


The Jane and Loki Drabbles

by audreyii_fic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Prison, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Amnesia, Amnesiac Loki, Angst, Boss/Employee Relationship, Chance Meetings, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Childhood, Childhood Sweethearts, Divorce, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Drug Withdrawal, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family, Gen, Hate Sex, Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kid Fic, Love Triangles, Masturbation, Mistaken Identity, One Night Stands, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Sadism, Snark, Suspense, Teacher-Parent Relationship, Temperature Play, Tragic Romance, Unhealthy Relationships, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unrequited Love, Wet Dream, Writer/Editor Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-01-15 07:05:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 20,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1295896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreyii_fic/pseuds/audreyii_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Audrey takes Lokane prompts and writes very short, questionably edited, likely ridiculous fics. Smut and steampunk and everything inbetween. Ratings and tags subject to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ordinary Love [moved]

 

 

**symbollalagy asked: Au where Loki is banished, not Thor. Odin takes his power, but not his impressive intellect. Maybe he learns Mifgardian science? ?**

 

_Wherein Loki gets laid, Thor plays wingman, and Darcy can't find her iPod. (Romance-ish/Humor. PG-13.)_

_Not exactly the prompt, and not as smutty as intended, and it sort of got away from me, but… isn’t that the way of things?_

 

  _ **The Banished!Odinsons drabbles now have their own home in[Ordinary Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1512575/chapters/3196208).**_


	2. Wherein Jane is at the mercy of her hormones and Loki can't concentrate.

 

 

 

**jgreye asked: For a Lokane smut prompt, I seriously saw this in a dream the other night. Loki and Jane, surrounded by darkness so you can't see their surroundings very well, it could be her trailer, or it could be his cell in TDW, we don’t know. But as things start to get heated, he pulls her up into a sitting position ready to thrust inside, then she’s gone. He’s back in his cell, and incredibly pissed. She’s waiting for that moment to feel him inside her, then she opens her eyes and he’s gone.**

 

_Wherein Jane is at the mercy of her hormones and Loki can't concentrate. (PWP. Hard R or soft NC-17.)_

 

 

Jane’s having _the dream._ Again.

She understands why it happens. She does. She’s an astrophysicist, not a psychiatrist, but it doesn’t take Freud to get that wet dreams are inevitable when one’s sole romantic entanglement is with one’s hand-held showerhead. She’s an adult woman who hasn’t gotten laid in over three years. And estrogen doesn’t care about vanished gods and broken hearts.

If _the dream_ were only more satisfying, she might even welcome it.

Long, delicate fingers splay across her bare back, tracing tickling patterns along each dip and knot of her spine.

She’s never gotten a good look at him — her hormone-crazed subconscious apparently doesn’t feel the need for little details like faces, or voices, or locations — but his body she’s become _intimately_ familiar with. He’s not slender, but he’s not broad, either. Smooth hair, corded muscles, surprisingly soft skin. He’s a little cold to the touch, too, like the cool side of a pillow on a summer night.

Except for his mouth. His mouth is hotter than hell.

That mouth is at work on her neck now, sharp teeth scraping against her collarbone. Jane moans — she likes that, and he knows it. (Of course he knows what she likes. He’s in her head.) Sometimes when she wakes up she expects to see herself covered in hickeys as though she’s sneaking home from prom.

One of his clever hands snakes down to grab her ass. Groping is a lost art, but this man seems determined to bring it back into fashion.

He’s wearing… _something_ , she can’t tell what, but he’s dressed, and he shouldn’t be. Her pajamas had vanished in the first few minutes, as usual. “Off,” she murmurs, tugging at his collar. It feels both rough and leathery, like a motorcycle jacket covered in burlap. No one ever said Jane Foster’s subconscious understood fashion.

The man complies. His clothes disappear. (That’s the convenience of a good dream — no laundry to do after.) Then his mouth is plundering hers with the kind of skill that only exists in bodice-ripping romance novels, one hand knotted in her hair and the other working its way between her thighs.

_Let me have you_ , he whispers wordlessly, communicating his desires even though he doesn’t make a sound. (No, she doesn’t know how. He just does. Dreams are like that.) Those cool fingers dip into her heat, stroking slow and pressing firm. _Show me your secrets. Let me have all of you, Jane Foster._

Hmph. He says stuff like that every time. “You’re _my_ fantasy,” she snaps at him. (Kind of snaps. It’s more of a squeak.) “ _I_ should get to have _you_.”

And she shoves at his shoulders, pushing him onto his back.

She can feel his surprise in the way his breathing hitches. Which is weird — why should he be surprised? Yeah, this isn’t the way their encounters usually go, but he’s just a figment of her imagination. He should be able to keep up.

Well, _up_ isn’t a problem in at least one way. Jane lowers her weight onto him, pleased all out of sorts by the way he groans at the contact; his waist fits very nicely between her legs. She grinds her hips experimentally.

He sits up so fast she nearly falls off the bed.

_Enough. Enough._ He grabs for her, jerks her down onto his lap roughly. His voice-that-isn’t-a-voice is strained with— what? Lust? Exertion? _Concentrate. Focus for me. Show me what you are._

She feels him, hard and hot where she is slick and ready, and, and, _and_ —

—and she’s staring at the ceiling of her apartment, aching, sticky, and totally alone.

She woke up before the good part.

Like always.

God, she _hates_ this stupid dream.

"For a fantasy man, you sure are a tease," she grumbles, kicking the covers back viciously and cursing the entire world — plus a few other worlds out there, just for good measure.

Time for another date with the showerhead.

 

***

 

When he jolts back to reality, it takes all of Loki’s considerable willpower not to destroy every inch of his cell until nothing remains but shredded paper and splinters.

Influencing a mortal’s dreams is difficult. Influencing a mortal’s dreams across realms is nigh-on impossible. Influencing a mortal’s dreams across realms from within the magic dampening dungeons of Asgard… well, that’s certainly never been done. Not until now.

If he could just remain focused long enough to peel apart the layers of Thor’s woman and discover what it is about her that makes her so valuable. If he could concentrate on _her_ seduction without losing control and breaking the connection by accident. If she would stop _distracting_ him.

Well. There’s always their next encounter.

It’s not like he has anything better to do.

 

 

 


	3. Wherein Jane experiences culture shock.

 

 

**iamartemisday said: AU prompt: Loki is a Joutunn prince and Jane is his mortal concubine.**

 

 

_Wherein Jane experiences culture shock. (Severe dub-con PWP AU. NC-17.)  
_

 

 

 

_Once upon a time, a mortal woman lived in the world of Midgard. Midgard, meaningless Midgard, backward Midgard, Midgard which sat so strategically planted between realms and planets that no race of creatures dare leave it be for more than a decade or two at a stretch. Midgard, where gods and demons of all stripes walked freely and took what they wished without regard for the primitive inhabitants._

_Once upon a time, a mortal woman came to the world of Asgard. A woman of science — that way of thinking which denied magic, that spoke of universal constants even the gods must obey, that concept which reared its ugly head every century or so until Galileo was burned and Newton was hung and Einstein was locked away to scream his blasphemy at padded walls — who was looked upon kindly by the Prince of the Aesir. A woman who, resistant to pomegranates and puzzle boxes, fell prey to the lure of the stars._

_Once upon a time, a mortal woman attended a feast in the halls of Odin. An anniversary feat, thrown to commemorate the end of a war which all knew would begin again as soon as a legitimate opportunity presented itself, bringing together two peoples happy to celebrate the peace whilst simultaneously preparing for the next battle. The mead flowed and the food was plentiful, and the mortal woman drank and ate and enjoyed the attentions of one prince without realizing she had drawn the eye of another._

_Once upon a time, a mortal woman learned of the indifference of the gods._

 

***

 

Jane Foster spends the wait picking at the silk sheets and cursing her own stupidity.

She knew what became of people who drew the attention of gods ( _aliens_ , _not gods, just other people from other planets who think they get to rule us because they freaked out our ancestors with some ice and lightning_ ). Dusty tomes and tabloids alike were littered with cautionary tales about reaching too high.

Julius Caesar. Anne Boleyn. Marilyn Monroe. For every William Shakespeare there were twenty Lindsay Lohans.

If someone from another world calls you worthy and offers to blow your mind, you  _walk the other way_.

But Thor had been nothing but kind. And the science of the Bifrost had been beyond her wildest dreams. And Jane had forgotten everything she’d ever learned about accepting the gifts of gods who havn’t made you any promises.

Still, when the All-Father had promised King Laufey his choice of gifts from the great halls of Asgard (a traditional offer made in courtesy, and in the same tradition meant to be courteously refused), not even the most jaded Asgardians could have guessed Laufey’s son would point at  _her_.

A crack of furious thunder sounds somewhere distant in the palace. That’s been going on for awhile.

Jane supposes she should feel touched that Thor is so indignant on her behalf, but it doesn’t matter. Odin won’t insult the Frost Giants by taking his “gift” back. In the eyes of the All-Father, what’s one mortal’s dignity against the safety of two realms? Less than nothing.

Lost in resentment, Jane nearly jumps out of her skin when the chamber doors open.

He strides into her bedroom like a panther, leather and armor as ice-blue as his skin and nearly indistinguishable, prowling as though he belongs there, as though this place belongs to him, as though  _everything_ belongs to him. Red eyes flit over every surface, his face bored beneath etched markings—

—before turning the same look on her and glancing her over from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes (bare beneath her robe). His disinterested air doesn’t change in the slightest.

Then he catches her expression. His lips, blue as the rest of him, twitch in what can only be described as the most exact definition of a _smirk_ ever known to man or god.

It makes her want to punch him in the nose. If she can reach that high. It would be a stretch, but she’s willing to make the effort.

"Your name."

An involuntary shiver runs through her body. Stupid gods with their stupid perfect voices.

Stupid  _rude_ perfect gods. “Was that a question?” Jane replies sarcastically. The Prince of Jotunheim raises an eyebrow, and she elaborates: “I know you do things differently around here, but on Earth, if you want to know someone’s name, you  _ask_.”

His eyebrow is almost at his hairline now. The smirk grows into an indulgent, condescending smile. “Would you be so kind as to favor me with your title, my lady?”

He’s mocking her, but it’s not like she expected anything else. “Jane Foster.”

"Jane Foster." Her name rolls off his tongue like molasses. "I am Loki of Jotunheim. You may have heard of me."

Of course she has. The history books are chock full of Loki’s visits to Midgard, and nothing good ever comes of them. “Once or twice, I guess.”

"Then further introduction is unnecessary. Undress yourself." When she doesn’t move, Loki makes a small noise of impatience. "You know why you’re here, Jane Foster, so don’t insult us both by feigning ignorance. Do as I say."

Jane swallows.

And Loki waits.

The battle of wills is over shamefully quickly. After all, she never had a chance at winning.

 _Meddle not in the affairs of the gods,_ she thinks to herself as her fingers fumble at the ties of her dressing gown.  _Meddle not, meddle not, meddle not._ She is such an idiot, and now, if she’s  _lucky_ , she’ll go down in history as an object lesson in human folly. If she’s not, she’ll be forgotten. One more lost mortal. Another speck of dust in a war without end.

It’s so depressing she wants to cry. “Why me?” she asks, shrugging off the robe to reveal the wispy gown underneath.

"I should think it obvious."

"You think wrong." Jane’s hardly the only mortal in Asgard at the moment. She’s not even the most attractive, objectively speaking. And who says the Prince of Jotunheim had to settle for a human? Odin had offered an open choice of gifts. Loki could have had Sif. Hell, Loki could have had  _Frigga_. “What’s so special about me?”

"Nothing," Loki says simply. He’s tilted his head to the side, and his red eyes are near to glowing as Jane unbinds her hair. Or maybe it’s just the candlelight. "Nothing at all, except that you belong to Thor."

Figures.

Jane’s been traded like a basket of fruit by the people she almost-trusted and is about to be used to who knows what perverted ends by the chaotically unbalanced prince of a race of ice demons. So she’s pretty nauseated when her first reaction is to be  _insulted_ by the revelation that her only appeal is in the fact that Thor will be irritated by someone else touching his stuff. Five steps back for feminism, right there.

Still, it’s a bargaining chip. “Thor loves me,” she lies, raising her chin in something she hopes looks like arrogance. “He loves me, if you do this, he’ll kill you.”

Loki blinks at her for half a second—

—and then bursts into laughter. It lightens his expression, makes him look like a young man instead of an ageless god… well, as much as a blue-skinned alien can look like a man at all. “Your concern for my health is touching!”

"If Thor smashed your face in I wouldn’t shed a tear."

"Few would, but you ought not waste your time anticipating it. My father left me to die on a rock when I was born, yet here I stand. I’ve quite the  _inconvenient_ knack for survival, you see.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that.

"And besides, Jane Foster, you are not such a fool as to think Thor cares  _so_ much for your honor,” he says, still chuckling. “We have been acquainted in one form or another since we were children. I know him well. You are a trinket, and he will set you aside as soon as something new and shiny crosses his path — nevertheless, if I do not take a strike from Mjolnir for this outrage, I shall think even less of him than I already do. But I would happily trade a hundred blows to my body for a single blow to Odinson’s ego.” He smiles again, his teeth unnervingly white. “Do you understand now?”

Jane just stares at him. “You’re disgusting.”

"And you’ve stopped undressing. Continue."

"No." It’s a little thing, and stupid at that, considering the ending to this pageant of theirs is more or less inevitable, but she’ll be damned if she’ll help him along. "If you want me naked, do it yourself." The  _coward_ is implied.

A flicker of something crosses the prince’s face, and his whole body stiffens. “You would not care for that,” he says softly.

It’s on the tip of Jane’s tongue to say  _I won’t care for **any** of it_ — but then she catches the way his slender hand with its black nails flexes at his side, and she remembers all she’s been told of the Jotunns. “You can’t touch me,” she breathes.

“ _Can’t_ is a strong word.” All the smugness and humor is gone from that smirk now. “But whatever you may think of me, Jane Foster, I’d rather not have my mortals screaming in pain as their skin sears and freezes from their bones.”

 _That’s_ an image to get a woman in the mood. “Then there’s no point,” she says, crossing her arms. (It makes her gown hike up closer to her waist, exposing more thigh, but what different does it make now?) “You can’t do anything, so get out of my room.”

"And report to Odin what an offensive gift he has bestowed upon the people of Jotunheim?" He laughs again, low and cold, because he knows he has her. "Remove your clothes. This is the last time I will ask."

She hates him.

She hates them  _all_.

Jane jerks her gown over her head so hard she hears something rip. Stamping down hard on the instinct to cover herself, she settles for glaring at the Jotunn prince and imagining she could cause him to burst into flames with the force of her rage. Spontaneous combustion is a force of physics, of  _science_ , not magic.

If Loki notices her fury he doesn’t give any sign of caring. “Better,” he says, looking over her exposed body, gaze lingering in all the usual places. “Much better. Lay back on the bed.”

 _He can’t touch me_ , Jane reminds herself as she reclines. The silk sheets are warm against her back, but the room is cool, and growing cooler with every moment. It’s no mystery what’s coming next, but she’s safe… in a way.  _He can’t hurt me. He doesn’t dare. He’s just a spoiled, bratty kid who wants to play with someone else’s toys. The hell with him._

Loki steps closer, until his knees are brushing the side of the mattress. “You’re flushed,” he observes.

"That happens when I’m angry."

"Ah. And here I had hoped there might be another reason."

She snorts. “You don’t know much about women, do you.”

That bit of snark earns her another one of his genuine smiles. If he wasn’t, you know, a  _frost giant_ , he’d be very attractive. “I know a great deal about a great many things, Jane Foster.” He makes his words a caress.

They pool the rage in her blood into different kind of heat — just a little.

"Now touch yourself."

Jane takes a deep breath and, deliberately misunderstanding, grabs a lock of her hair and begins to braid it. Contemptuously.

The temperature drops another five degrees. “As much as your disobedience amuses me, a little of such goes a long way, especially from a mortal who sees fit to walk amongst the gods. Obey me, as your kind were  _made_ to obey.”

This is revolting,  _he_ is revolting, (and she is revolted by the feeling that stirs in her at the tone of his voice), but the sooner she does it the sooner he’ll lose interest. Jane closes her eyes, brings one hand up to cup her breast, and thinks of the skies of New Mexico. She should never have left.

It’s impossible to pretend, though, when she hears the hitch in his breathing. “Harder,” he murmurs. “The way I would touch you.”

She squeezes dutifully — and, to her great annoyance, imagines a larger, colder hand in place of her own. Her rage flares and sinks simultaneously, before settling to a dull throb deep in her belly. “If you wanted more than this,” she says, “you should be in bed with another frost giant.”

"Perhaps," he replies, and that’s a lot of acid stored in a single word. "But when one travels as widely as I do, one develops more…  _exotic_ tastes. Spread your legs.”

She does, and she doesn’t wait for his order to slip her fingers between her thighs; if she acts first, on her own, it’s almost like she’s still making the decisions. She’s deeply disturbed (and not as shocked as she should be) to find herself already wet. The moan that chokes in her throat has got to be some kind of a sin.

Once she gets back to Earth — if she ever gets back to Earth — Jane’s getting herself some therapy.

"There, now." Loki’s voice has dipped another octave, and she keeps her eyes shut tight. "Is this not simpler?"

"Simpler and sick."

"Sick need not be unpleasant. Faster."

She hardly needs the encouragement.  _Just get it over with_ , she tells herself as she slides in one finger, then a second, and tries to think of her jackass ex-boyfriend, of the _human_ lovers she’s had, but a chilled palm ghosts _just_ out of contact with her shoulder and a frigid breath brushes across her cheek. The crisp smell of winter mornings combines with her own warm scent.

Jane knows exactly where she is, what she’s doing, and who she’s with.

She writhes against her own hand and hates him.

Loki chuckles in her ear, as though he’s read her thoughts. “I  _like_ you, Jane Foster,” he says, and she can feel his frozen skin dangerously close to her own. “So bitter! You loathe me with _such_ desperation, and you would take me inside you in a heartbeat if you could.”

“ _You’re_ the one who’s risking another war so you can pretend to fuck your frenemy’s ‘trinket’.” She opens her eyes long enough to glare at him, all carved markings and bright irises, his lips inches from her own, and thinks for a moment about the danger of developing  _exotic tastes_. “So don’t talk to  _me_ about bitter, asshole.”

He bares his teeth.

In his otherworldly face she sees her own death.

But instead of crushing her throat, he growls: “My  _pretending_ is going to ruin you for every other man you will meet in your fleeting mortal life.”

And Loki is suddenly over her, his right leg between hers, his knee shoving hard against her hand and forcing it deeper into her flesh, his leather and armor so cold against her bare thighs that she gasps in shock. There’s no other contact and thank goodness for that because it would hurt like hell, the ice of him stings the backs of her fingers even through his clothes but she follows his brutal lead and grinds down and strokes herself inside and out and everything,  _everything_ locks together like molecules snapping into place—

“ _Look at me_ , Jane Foster,” Loki commands, but his eyes are on her mouth, and Jane sees that he would kiss her if he could, just as she knows she would respond and hate herself for it— “look at me, and  _never_ see another.”

She looks.

 

***

 

_Once upon a time, a mortal woman faced the indifference of the gods. The indifference that began thousands of years before her birth, the indifference that continued thousands of years after her death. The indifference that taught humans their utter irrelevance, how they would never be more than pawns of pawns in an endless game crossing undreamed worlds and beyond._

_Once upon a time, a mortal woman was pursued by a god for no other reason than spite for another. A god who took pleasure in the mortal woman’s desire and malice until his pleasure overwhelmed him into pain. A god who returned the mortal woman to her world, out of the reach of the deities she had come to loathe, and could do nothing thereafter but curse her name in his dreams until there were no dreams left to be had._

_Once upon a time, a god came to the realm of his enemy, knelt, and begged for mercy from the only one in the universe with the power to grant his desire. A god whose eyes turned from red to blue, whose skin turned from blue to white. A god who traveled to a primitive realm, where no good ever came of his visits, to delight in the hatred of a mortal woman._

_Once upon a time, a god offered a mortal woman a golden apple with a lie of apology and without a sliver of regret._

 

 


	4. Wherein Thor is late to the party and Nick Fury never saw The Silence of the Lambs.

 

 

**Kurukami: Soooooo hmmm. OK. Barriers between Jane and Loki, in the SHIELD sense. Picture Loki in the Hulk-cage, and Jane called in to consult on the possibilities of the Einstein-Rosen bridge research by Agent Coulson. Loki drops some tantalizing hints, and Jane wants to pick over his knowledge, but Jane's not exactly a trained interrogator. Loki starts out trying to subtly manipulate her, while being carefully watched (indirectly) by maybe Natasha, but grows intrigued by her knowledge and dimensional intuition. Infatuation results?**  
  
  
  
  
 _Wherein Thor is late to the party and Nick Fury never saw The Silence of the Lambs. (Humor. AU. PG-13.)_  


 

 

  
"I don’t like this," says Romanov, for the fourth time.

"Your objection is duly noted." Fury adjusts the video stream from what was intended to be the Hulk’s cell. The feed’s been jumping into pixels at random moments. "Someone want to tell me again why we can’t hear what they’re saying?"

Coulson’s shoulders raise and lower with what might be considered a sigh on someone actually given to sighing. “The guy in charge of audio was playing Galaga.”

"Tens of millions of dollars went into building the surveillance on this aircraft, and you’re telling me that one gamer screwed it up?"

"It only takes one," says Coulson.

On screen, Jane Foster, all plaid shirt and three-day-unwashed hair, says something to the Asgardian prisoner. A broad smile is all she gets in response.

"I don’t like this," says Romanov, for the fifth time. "It should be me in there. I can handle him."

"No one doubts your abilities, Agent Romanov, but unless you’ve added three degrees in astrophysics to your personel file in the last twelve hours, then we’re going to stick with the only person in the world who might have a chance of figuring out what Loki wants Selvig to do with the tesseract."

Coulson raises an eyebrow. He hasn’t been protesting the way Romanov has, but it’s perfectly obvious that he doesn’t approve of bringing in Jane Foster either. “The  _only_ person?”

"I am not putting an interdimensional psychopath in the same room with Bruce Banner. And no," Fury cuts Romanov off before she can interrupt, "Stark isn’t an option either. The weight of the combined megalomania would sink this ship. This is what we’re doing. Live with it."

Foster has started pacing and gesturing with her hands. Wildly. Furiously. So far Loki hasn’t been observed saying much of anything, but he hasn’t ignored her, either. That’s something.

On a day with more rolls of the dice than he can count, bringing in Foster is one of the biggest. If she can’t get Selvig’s plan out of Loki, she might get something else. She has a history with his brother. Therefore she has to be an object of some interest to him — and when a prisoner is faced with an object of interest, he can reveal more than he intends.

Nick Fury has been at this for a long time.

Romanov leans in closer to the screen. She and Coulson are the only ones Fury trusts to observe along with him; they’re the only ones with the right kind of experience to understand what an interrogation should and shouldn’t look like. “What’s she doing?”

Having produced a sharpie from nowhere — a trick that seems to come with any post-graduate degree in hard science — Foster has started scribbling numbers across the glass wall of Loki’s cell. Every now and then she circles a particular number, or underlines a trigonometric equation with dark slashes.

Loki’s grin keeps widening.

"That," says Coulson, "is never going to come off."

Fury just shakes his head. “She can deface whatever property she wants as long as she gets us what we need.”

Foster spreads her arms wide in the universal gesture of  _I can’t make it any clearer than I already have, idiot._ Loki just shrugs elegantly, as though her frustration couldn’t possibly make the slightest bit of difference to him, and says something.

Foster throws her sharpie on the floor.

"I don’t like this," says Romanov for the sixth time.

To tell the truth, Fury’s starting to have doubts as well. But when one is in charge of a super-secret initiative involving the most powerfully unstable individuals on earth, one does not reveal doubt. “Five more minutes. Then we’ll send her to Stark and Banner.”

Coulson’s phone buzzes. He glances at the message, then taps the side of the screen where a human woman is yelling at a god for not instantly understanding all the nuances of advanced theoretical astrophysics.

The display goes blank.

"Apparently," says Coulson, "we have to turn it off and on again."

Fucking Galaga.

When the screen comes back on thirty seconds later, the audio comes with it. _"It’s mass-energy equivalence!"_ Jane Foster is yelling. She jabs her finger at the _E = mc2_ in the center of the glass. _"I don’t care **where** you’re from or **how** you travel, it’s a constant!”_

_"Is it."_

_"Yes! It is!"_

Loki hums, and waves his hand casually at Foster’s writing.

As if made of nothing more than wisps of paper, the numbers lift, swirl, float across the glass… and rearrange themselves into a new set of equations.

Foster’s jaw drops.

"Okay," says Romanov, "I don’t like that he can do that."

"Neither do I," says Coulson.

 _"Oh, my God."_ Foster steps close to the cell, eyes riveted to whatever’s so important about the new math. _"That doesn’t… you can’t…"_

_"I believe I just did."_

_"You said you didn’t know about differential equations!"_

_"I don’t. I simply know the Bifrost, same as anyone else who isn’t bound to this primitive realm. Also, I lied."_

Foster drops to her knees and scrambles for her sharpie. _"I need some paper,"_ she says frantically. _“I have to write this down—”_

The numbers vanish from the glass.

 _"Oh, my apologies."_ Loki folds his hands behind his back. _"Was that interesting to you?"_

"Uh-oh," says Coulson.

Romanov’s out of her seat and striding for the door before Fury can say a word to stop her. A moment later Fury sees her on the screen, pulling Foster away from the cage. _"No no no, you can’t **do** that, you can’t just **disprove the theory of relativity** and **wipe it out** , you bring it back or I’ll—”_

Loki bows, just a little, and with great mockery. _"I do hope we’ll meet again, Jane Foster. I have **so** much more to show you.”_

Then the audio screeches, crackles, and goes dead again.

 _Mother_ fucking Galaga.

"I can hear you thinking," Fury tells Coulson as they watch Romanov forcibly remove Foster from the scene. "So just say whatever you’re going to say."

"I met Jane Foster in New Mexico," says Coulson.

"And?"

"And her work is her life."

"So?"

"So Stark needs to hire her. He needs to give her free reign of his research and development labs. And funding. And whatever else she wants. Right away." A pause. "Before she gets a better offer."

Fury watches the screen for another moment.

Loki looks up at the camera. And smirks.

"Make it happen," says Fury.

By general measurement, his gamble has been a waste at best. No secrets of the tesseract had been extracted. Agents Romanov and Coulson were questioning his judgment. They were no closer to averting war.

But Fury hadn’t missed how Loki’s eyes had gleamed when Foster was on her knees.

He suspects this gamble won’t turn out to be a loss.

 

 


	5. Wherein Loki learns a new trick and Frigga worries.

 

 

**einfach_mich: Kid Loki learns to visit other people’s dreams and stumbles upon a girl who dreams in numbers.**

 

_Wherein Loki learns a new trick and Frigga worries. (Family/Angst. Arguably canon-compliant. PG.)  
_

_Please ignore the fact that Loki’s childhood took place about two thousand years before Jane’s birth. Influenced heavily by this[hurty fanart of hurting](http://kumawind.tumblr.com/post/66407570899/memory-in-asgard-mothers-love-is-touching-and)._

 

  
  
  
The unspoken secret of raising children is that every parent has their favorite.

Not that it’s a matter of love; Frigga could not love one son more than the other even if she tried. As well ask her which lung she values greater, which side of her heart she finds more vital. She would die for them both; she would kill for them both. They are equal in her mother’s soul.

But Thor has always been Odin’s. He is growing up brash and loud, with so much energy for _everything_ he can hardly hold the enthusiasm in his own skin. His easy confidence charms whomever he meets, and Frigga adores the way he has a friendly grin for every living being in the Realm Eternal. She swells with pride at his fearlessness, which time will temper into wiser courage. He wants nothing more than to be his father. He hangs on Odin’s every word — and Odin favors him in turn. They cannot help it. They are too alike.

Whereas Loki…

From the moment Odin laid their second son in her arms, Loki has been all _hers_.

It is one of the reasons she is teaching him her tricks.

Loki sits before her now, legs crossed, eyes bright. “I’m ready,” he says, wiggling in excitement. “Can we start?”

Frigga longs to pull him into her lap, as she did when they began their lessons long ago. He is too big for that now. “You must be still, Loki,” she tells him. “Still, and relaxed. If you do not control yourself, you cannot control your magic. You could hurt someone.”

"Thor hurts people with his sword when _he_ trains.”

"Battle hurts bodies. Magic hurts minds. Minds are far more difficult to heal than bodies. Always remember that."

Her son nods. Sharply. “I will. Always.”

"Good. Now, like we practiced."

Loki closes his eyes obediently. His features, which have been sharpening as the baby fat fades away with age, soften into a quiet, placid expression. Almost too quiet and placid. Almost too much like a mask.

It is becoming harder for Frigga to tell when Loki is genuinely calm, and when he is simply caging his emotions behind a wall of ice. Perhaps one day she will not see the difference.

No. Odin always tells her she frets overmuch. Frigga knows her son. She will always know when he is hiding something. He is calm. He is ready. He can do this.

But he peeks at her all the same. “You _are_ coming with me?” he asks nervously.

She smiles. “Of course I am.”

"All right." They both close their eyes this time. Frigga hears Loki take a deep breath—

—and a rush of energy swirls around them both, pulling them into a current of thoughts as relentlessly as a river surging towards a waterfall. She doesn’t even have to alter their direction; a small touch to steady the pace is all that is required. She will tell Odin of how splendidly their son has performed on his first try, and she’ll see to it her husband, who may not recognize on his own what a great feat this is, is as strong in her praise as she is.

Their stop amongst the mists is a little rough — that’s to be expected. Starting is always easier than stopping, in all things. Insubstantial in an insubstantial world, both present and not present, she watches her son without watching as he looks about without looking. “There’s so many,” he breathes without breathing.

"Midgardians do love their sleep." Frigga nudges him forward without nudging. "Go on. Choose well."

It is, perhaps, _somewhat_ questionable that she is allowing her son to try this at so young an age. Touching dreams is a very precise art. But Loki is so talented, and more importantly, Loki is so _alone_. His older brother adores him (and how Frigga wishes Loki saw that more clearly), but their interests and temperments are growing more different by the day. Thor has many friends. Loki has none. And, more worrisome, Loki does not seem to _care_. He detests being teased by Thor’s new playmates, but he makes no effort to find his own.

In human dreams, he needn’t stand in his brother’s shadow.

"That one." Loki points without pointing. "That one there, with the numbers."

It takes Frigga a moment to sort through the nebulous, fragile clouds of fantasy, but the mortal her son has chosen soon makes herself apparent. A girlchild, roughly his own age — by human standards, anyway, how does one count Midgardian years? Frigga cannot recall — staring down at her cupped hands. From between her fingers flow endless sand grains of numerals. They blow away in an imaginary wind as they fall.

Frigga delicately pulls without pulling; the girlchild’s dream floats closer, gains definition, becomes lines and shapes and colors. She’s a pretty little thing. Frigga wonders with a twinge of alarm if that’s why Loki chose as he did, if her boys have grown up so _very_ much, before reminding herself that her sons still frequently amuse themselves by playing hide-and-seek in the throne room. There is a great deal of time left before she need worry over their notice of pretty girls. “Here you are,” she says. “ _Gently._ ”

Loki takes a breath without breathing. He steps without stepping.

Frigga’s heart is in her throat as her son enters the mortal’s dream without so much as a shiver.

The scene sharpens abruptly into a grassy Midgardian field, dark with deep night. The girlchild doesn’t look up as Loki approaches, only frowns at the specks of numbers still falling from her hands. “There’s too many,” she says before Loki has a chance to speak — for mortal dreams rarely require introduction or explanation. “I can’t remember them all.”

"Oh. Well, you ought write them down; that is what I would do." Loki is all grace and confidence. Only a mother would know his uncertainty.

"Too many," the girlchild repeats. "I’ll _never_ get it, _never_.” Loki reaches out for one of the falling grains, but the girl snatches her hands back. “No, don’t touch! They’re _mine_.”

Loki scowls. He has rarely heard the word _No_ from anyone but his parents; few dare lecture a Prince of Asgard. “I only want a few.”

"Well, you can’t have them."

He doesn’t listen, and tries for the numbers again.

The girlchild kicks him in the shin.

"I… you… how _dare_ you!”

"I told you not to touch!"

"You don’t need _all_ of them!”

"I do!"

"You _don’t!_ ”

"I do! Watch!" And the girlchild throws her handful of sand numbers into the air.

They lodge in the midnight sky, turn white and bright, transform into stars.

"See?" The girlchild and Loki are both staring up now, faces pale in the starlight, little noses casting shadows across their youthful cheeks. "You see how many? I can’t remember them all!"

"I can," Loki says quickly, and later Frigga will take him to task for that. Lying is unacceptable, even to a mortal, even in dreams — but that is the one vice no one has been able to draw out of her son, even her.

"You can not."

"I can so!"

"Then show me!" The girlchild traces her finger through the air; lines follow her fantasy touch, connecting star to star, until a crude figure sketches out above them. "What’s that?"

Loki bites his lip and blushes. Frigga has seen to it both he and Thor were taught the skies of Asgard, but they bear no relation to Midgard.

The girlchild waits a few moments before telling him: “It’s Gemini.” The combativeness has almost instantly vanished from her tone. “Look, that one’s Castor—” a tiny number at the corner of the sketch flares red “—and that’s Pollux—” another flare “—and down there is Tejat—” another flare “—and next to it is Mek… Mek… no, _Meb_ suta, Mekbuda’s on the other side—”

"Are you going to tell me _all_ of these?” Loki interrupts, staring at her, utterly appalled.

The girlchild glances at his face for the first time. “Yes,” she says simply, as though she couldn’t conceive of anything in all the realms that a person would want more than to hear every star in the wide skies listed by name. Then a shadow crosses her expression, and she mutters: “As many as I can remember, anyway.”

Frigga’s precious, perceptive, lonely second son stares at the strange little girlchild for a long moment.

And then he shrugs. “All right,” he says.

The girlchild beams. “Okay. Good. Good! Now, see, next to Gemini, that’s Cancer, and it’s a little easier because there’s only five…”

Many hours later, when the girlchild begins to fade back to the haze, when Frigga pulls Loki free from the collapsing dream without pulling, when they come back to themselves in the darkened halls of Asgard, when the mother leads the exhausted son to his bed and tucks him in as he will soon no longer allow her to do, Frigga says: “You did very well. And next time I’m certain you will find a livelier dreamer.”

Loki shakes his head. “No. I want her.”

Frigga pauses. “It is very difficult to find a mortal more than once in the mists,” she explains. “It will have to be someone different.”

"But I want _her_.”

"We do not always get what we want, dear one." Frigga cannot help but smile when he rolls away in a huff. "But you never know," she says. "Individuals can be located much more easily once you’ve met them in the flesh. Perhaps one day your paths will cross." She kisses her son’s temple. "Sweet dreams, Loki."

He is asleep before she has even left the room.

 

 

When she wakes the next day, seven-year-old Jane Foster, who had cried herself to sleep over her father’s sky charts, cannot remember of what she’d dreamed… but finds she can remember _every one_ of the elusive stars that had caused her so much grief.

 

 

 


	6. Wherein Jane knows right from wrong.

 

**bldskr asked you: Prompt? Jane doesn’t agree with Loki not being allowed to Frigga’s funeral, so offers to tell him the news herself and maybe ends up comforting him (or he’s manipulating her into thinking that he “needs comfort”)**

 

_Wherein Jane knows right from wrong. (T:TDW AU. PG-13.)_

 

 

When Jane heard _dungeons_ , she had pictured something out of a period film: rough stone walls, rusting bars, creaking hinges, maybe a couple immortal god-rats scurrying down the corridors. The whole spooky Renfest Halloween effect. Tower of London meets Norse Pantheon.

But she should have known better. Asgard’s dungeons _do_ have stone walls, but they’re just as artistically pristine as the rest of the palace architecture. In fact, the only sign of the battle earlier that day is a faint smell of roasted meat.

Ick.

Jane walks down the hall and peeks into the cells, each of which appear to be made of some sort of electromagnetic generated forcefield, seemingly insubstantial but flexible and perforated for free movement of molecules and yet very obviously resilient if it can contain a bunch of eight-foot armored aliens with bad tempers, if she could somehow get a couple of scanners from her lab she could take a few readings and—

No. Stop. No time for that. She has to find—

"And _what_ have we here?”

Or he’ll find her. Either way.

Jane tiptoes down to the last cell on the right. She’s never met Thor’s brother before, but she’s seen the grainy footage from New York, same as everyone else on Earth, and she recognizes him even without the horned helmet. He’s all height and hair and cheekbones and arrogance.

It’s the last one that makes her suddenly feel two inches tall. “Um, hi,” she says to the Trickster God of Chaos. “I’m Jane. Foster.”

Loki just stares at her. He doesn’t look like a guy who’s just been told his mother died, but then, looks can be deceiving. “ _Jane Foster_ ,” he says slowly — before his lips curve in what can only be described as a very worrisome smirk. “Yes, of course you are.”

Jane blinks. “Thor told you about me?” Apparently she’s _really_ made the rounds.

"Once. A rather long time ago. I intended to pay you a visit… and instead _you’ve_ sought _me_.” He nods to her, and Jane’s suddenly reminded of her theoretical physics professor back at Cal Tech, who gave her an F on her midterm and told her that she’d be better bring herself back down to earth before she blacklisted herself from every graduate program in western civilization. “Tell me, why have you come?”

That requires some explanation. She starts with: “I’m sorry. About your mother.”

Loki doesn’t bat an eye, but for a fleeting second the cell _flickers_ , and Jane would swear she caught a glimpse of broken furniture. “She was not my mother,” he says. “Why have you come?”

Jane’s bad with people. _Very_ bad. She still sees that that’s bullshit. “Her funeral is tonight. There’s, um, supposed to be a boat, and some kind of lights thing—”

"Yes, mortal, I _was_ raised in this palace. I know the rites. Why have you come?”

It’s not too late to turn back. No one would ever know she’d been here. That would unquestionably be the smart thing to do.

Jane’s got an IQ of 165, but when it comes to stuff like this, she’s never been good at doing the smart thing.

"I thought," she says, "you would want to go."

Loki just blinks at her.

"Thor argued with Odin about it," Jane elaborates after a minute of silence. There’s a perverse satisfaction in knowing she’s struck a god speechless — especially _this_ god, who’s supposed to have a comeback to everything. “He — Thor, I mean — thinks Frigga would have wanted you there, and Odin said no. But Odin isn’t _my_ king, and Frigga saved my life, and…” She trails off, ending with a shrug, unable to articulate further.

Loki continues to stare, and Jane feels like a butterfly pinned to a board. Biology was never her strength. “You must suffer truly terrible demons,” he says finally, “if you would use _me_ to excise them.”

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"You’ve no skill for dissembling, Jane Foster, so a little honesty, if you please. _Why have you come?_ ”

Fine. “My dad died in a car accident when I was seven,” she says flatly. “They said I was too young for the funeral, so I stayed home. It doesn’t matter how many times I go to his grave; facts aren’t facts until you can see them in your data. In my head he’s always going to be at the grocery store picking up milk.” She swallows. “There are things that are wrong, and this is one of them. You should get to go.”

The cell flickers again, and this time Jane’s sure she saw a man in rags screaming with rage. “And do you imagine I’ll simply return to this prison afterwards, like a penitent child accepting punishment for a sin I’ve not committed?”

Jane’s mouth drops open. “You’ve not _committed—_ you _did_ try to take over the world, right?”

"Well, yes."

"I’d say that counts as a sin!"

"We’ll agree to disagree. You haven’t answered my question."

She hasn’t. Admittedly, this is the part of the problem she’s avoided thinking about. “I thought maybe we’d do this on the honor system,” she says lamely.

And, yep, she’s struck him speechless _again_. She’s getting kind of proud of it.

"You," he finally manages to say, "may have the distinction of being the most foolish human I have _ever_ met.”

What an ungrateful brat. “I’m not an idiot,” Jane snaps. “I know who you are. And if you don’t come back afterwards, I’ll—”

"You’ll what? Tattle to my brother?"

"Yes." Jane flexes her hands, feeling the aether stir in her veins. If she’s stuck with all this power that’s slowly consuming her from the inside out, she may as well put it to good use. "But that’s not all I’ll do."

Loki’s expression changes; he comes closer to the edge of the cell, looks her over harder, gold softening him from the glaring white lights above. Whatever he sees causes him to smile. “You become more intriguing by the minute, Jane Foster,” he says, chuckling. “Now, not to question such a detailed and ingenious scheme, but how precisely do you propose to get me out of this prison?”

Jane glances around and tries not to fidget. “Um… well… my plan was sort of contingent on there being a door. And keys.”

"And here I was told you were clever."

"I’m making this up as I go."

“ _That_ is readily apparent.”

"Excuse me, which one of us is trapped in a dungeon?" Asshole. She takes a few steps backwards. "Do you want me to leave you here after all? Because I can do that. The funeral’s in an hour. I shouldn’t be late."

Another flicker. Splatters of blood across the floor and wall, gone again as quickly as they were there.

"No," Loki says quietly. "Please don’t."

"All right, then. How does the generator work?"

"By magic."

"By _science_.” Okay, that’s probably an argument for another time. “But I meant, how do I take it down?”

Loki walks her through the process, pointing out all the hidden switches in the pillars, being shockingly patient as she fumbles through senseless Asgardian symbols as foreign to her as hieroglyphics. But after what feels like a very long time but probably wasn’t more than a few minutes, the golden forcefield collapses, and Loki is free.

Jane swallows as he leaps lightly from his cell to the floor. “You stay in my sight at all times,” she tells him. “Deal?”

His face splits into a wide grin — just before transforming into a nondescript guard. “That,” he says with a new voice, “is a promise I am most willing to keep.”

"Good. Oh, and one more thing." Jane puts the aether behind her punch, and the guard’s head snaps to the side with the force of the blow. " _That_ was for New York.”

It is _really_ annoying how the guard doesn’t do anything but laugh.

As they sneak out of the dungeon, Jane glances back, just once. She was right. Everything in cell they’ve left behind is demolished.

Drops of blood follow them with every step.

 

 


	7. Ordinary Love [moved]

**masayume85 said: Fluff and sex and happy. That’s what I need. I am still in mental recovery after that drabble.**

 

 _Wherein everything is sticky. (PWP. NC-17.)_  
  
 

 

  _ **The Banished!Odinsons drabbles now have their own home in[Ordinary Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1512575/chapters/3196208).**_


	8. Ordinary Love [moved]

 

**audreyii_fic said: dammit i just wanna write some mama!frigga and y’all can’t stop me YOLO BITCHEZ**

 

_Wherein Frigga checks on her sons, Darcy introduces Thor to Jägermeister, Loki and Jane get a proper bed, and Audrey answers her own prompt. Because reasons. (Drama/Romance. PG.)  
_

_Still in the Odinsons Are Banished AU, where it's possible -- just possible -- that not everything will end in fire and blood._

 

  _ **The Banished!Odinsons drabbles now have their own home in[Ordinary Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1512575/chapters/3196208).**_


	9. Ordinary Love [moved]

**puella-magi-homura-akemi asked you:** **prompts for odinsons are banished! Jane and Darcy decide to show Thor and Loki around town, like take them to a mall or a Wal-Mart or something, & drama happens. Or Loki gets bored & decides to explore. Or both.**  
  
 **mujaki said: Darcy is something of a periphery character in these drabbles (the better for Lokane goodness), but she and Thor have an interesting thing going on… how about something from her perspective starting from when the “pets” showed up?**

 

_Wherein Darcy and Thor go shopping while Loki and Jane... whatever. (Humor. G.)_

_(Vaguely combined the two. Sort of. In a way. I just wanted to write something fluffy, okay? I DON’T WANT TO HURT ANYMORE.)_

 

  _ **The Banished!Odinsons drabbles now have their own home in[Ordinary Love](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1512575/chapters/3196208).**_


	10. Wherein Crimson Peak set photos create Steampunk!Lokane.

First this one happened…

…then this one…

…and I am weak.

  
  
  
 _Wherein Mr. Thor Odinson, the handsome and dashing titled heir, is marrying the lovely and very, very proper Jane Foster. Miss Foster, who has always obeyed convention and certainly never done anything the least bit scandalous… like hiding copies of_ Views of the architecture of the heavens _and_ Vestiges of the natural history of creation _and, worst of all,_ On the origins of species _beneath the petticoats in her steamertrunk. It is the perfect match of wealth and status — or would be, if Miss Foster were not developing a curiosity about her affianced’s younger brother, who always turns up for supper with a smile and vanishes again into the east wing of the estate, where explosions can be heard long through the night._  
  
  
“You ought to be in bed, Miss Foster,” Mr. Loki Odinson — the name a gift from his foreign but respectably bloodlined mother — says, not looking up from his microscope. “Your uncle Selvig would have much to say about his ward wandering the halls at half-past two in the morning.”

"I would not wander the halls if I could sleep," replies Jane, though she hitches her dressing gown tighter, and rather wishes she’d thought to bind her hair. (Though if she’d stopped to make herself presentable, she’d have thought better of such a venture entirely and never left her chambers.) "How the rest of the house sleeps through your ‘experiments’ is beyond my understanding."

"Oh, they’ve grown quite accustomed to the occasional loud bang."

Jane gestures to the long table that dominates the room — secured to the floor with steel bolts the size of her fist — and the smoke which still rises from the broken glass of a dozen shattered beakers. “I would call that more than a ‘loud bang’, sir.”

"Would you."

"I would."

"Well, Miss Foster, I fear _you_ will have no choice but to grow accustomed to them as well, once you wed my dear brother.” Mr. Odinson makes two small adjustments to his instrument, long fingers flitting across the knobs and dials with the ease of long practice, then scribbles a note on the sheaf of paper at his side. “Thor will not be master of this house for some time yet, and Father has never objected to my… work.”

"A mystery in and of itself."

"Hardly. It keeps me out of sight. Now run along, little Miss Foster, before an enterprising maid discovers you unchaperoned in a man’s presence." He grins. "In your nightclothes."

Jane is rather surprised he noticed her attire, given that he’s not spared her so much as a glance since she entered. And his advisement, though impertinently delivered, isn’t wrong. She ought return to bed. At once.

She steps closer. “What are you doing?”

"Making magic, of course."

"There is no such thing."

"Of course not," he says, mockingly, _dismissively_. “There is only God.”

"No," she retorts without thinking. "There is only _science_.”

Mr. Odinson’s notations pause.

He sets aside his pen, turns about full in his chair, and fixes her with a penetrating stare.

It is the first time Jane has seen him without his dark, omnipresent spectacles. His eyes are green.  
  
"Could you repeat that?" he says quietly.  
  
Jane, horrified, claps her hand over her mouth.  
  
"Now, now, Miss Foster. I’ve yet to see an idea contained by closing one’s lips — even lips my family so _often_ sees mouthing platitudes at chapel.”

She lowers her hand at once, unable to bear his ridicule. “It was a mistake,” she says. “I am very tired, sir. And— and you made me angry. I misspoke.”

"Oh, no doubt." He leans forward, resting his elbows upon his knees. Jane is reminded of the arachnid anatomy illustrations in her books. Indifferently, as though they are discussing no more than the temperature of tea, he remarks: "Perhaps you are less insipid than I’ve found you thus far, Miss Foster."

"Excuse me?"

"Insipid. It means spiritless. Commonplace. _Dull._ ”

"I know what it means," she snaps, stung.

"So it would seem. And yet, can you blame me for my misconception? Until a few moments ago I would not have guessed you knew more than the words printed within the Book of Common Prayer." His smile widens. "I begin to suspect my dear brother isn’t quite aware of what he’s acquired in his lady love."

Jane wishes very much to wipe the smirk from her future brother’s face with a well-placed slap, announcing to him and the world that she is no one’s _acquisition_ — but such words have sat upon the edge of her tongue for a lifetime. This idle scorn will not be what coaxes them to be spoken at last. “I should be returning to my chambers,” she says, bobbing a small, perfectly executed curtsey, dressing gown and all.”I bid you good night, Mr. Odinson.”

"You are quite welcome to bid me _good night_ if you wish,” he replies, “though I _thought_ I heard you request an explanation of my doings.”

"Indeed, but I’ve no interest in _magic_ , sir,” she says haughtily.

"No, only in science." Mr. Odinson pushes his chair another foot backwards, leaving enough room for a reasonably slender person to stand between him and his microscope, and gestures to the device with an elegant wave. "If you believe it is not magic I create through my labors, Miss Foster, then by all means… prove me wrong."

Jane swallows, glancing at the door, which opens to the corridor which comes to the stairs which take her to her chambers which contain her soft bed and her petticoats and her corsets to be worn for tomorrow’s luncheon.

That is, of course, where she belongs.

Mr. Odinson — the Mr. Odinson to whom she is _not_ betrothed — extends his hand.

Jane steps forward to look through the microscope.  
  


 


	11. Wherein Loki and Jane are not like the rest of them. [moved]

 

 

**So I had a fever and watched The Secret Garden and then this happened. Standard disclaimer that Thor and Loki’s childhood actually took place about two thousand years before Jane’s birth. Eat me, canon.**

 

_Wherein Loki and Jane are not like the rest of them. (Family/Romance-ish. PG.)_

 

 

_**The kid!fic Lokane drabbles now have their own home in[Kingslayer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2085519/chapters/4538175).** _


	12. Wherein Loki sees the end... or so he thinks.

 

**starzangelus asked you: Thanos needed a way across realms, so he manipulated Jane's dreams so she would become an astrophysicist. Loki discovers he isn't the only puppet in the titan's schemes, and seeks Jane's help to stop him.**

 

_Wherein Loki sees the end... or so he thinks. (Avengers!AU. Drama. PG-13.)_

 

 

She’s small and mortal and so desperately unimportant that it staggers Loki (or would, were he the sort to be staggered) to know she is the lynchpin to all things. But as clockwork ticks — through Germany, through Fury’s cage, through the monster and his escape — his thoughts tick as well, and there is no room for doubt. Loki has spent too much time in the mind of the Other (and the Other has spent too much time in his, far, far, far too much) to miss the clues. The secrets the Other is not even aware he carries. His inferior brain cannot even _begin_ to process the destination of the road they travel — a road built with bricks laid by another, sealed with mortar ground from their bones. All of their bones.

But paths can be traversed from two directions. Doors open from both sides.

Jane Foster is the key to the door. The Titan fashioned her himself.

But it is Loki of Asgard who will turn the lock.

 

***

 

“You expect me to believe you,” says Jane Foster. “ _You_.”

The scepter that feels so right in his hand could solve this conflict in an instant, but humans are broken by its influence. The ones of greater heart last much longer, but by the time Loki fled Selvig’s mind had finally begun to disintegrate, and Barton did not seem far behind. (The tesseract only damages mortals, Loki reminds himself. Only mortals. Only mortals. He need not fear.) He will not risk Jane Foster’s psyche unless absolutely necessary.

“Have you truly never wondered,” Loki says (of all the places to hide her Fury could not have picked a more foolish location than _Norway_ , one of the few places on Midgard Loki recalls with any clarity) “how you happened to be in exactly the right place to find Thor when he fell? How you brought about such a change in him in a mere three turns of your world? Do you think yourself _so_ enticing, Jane Foster? Because I assure you, you are not.”

Her cheeks redden. “And everyone says you’re so charming,” she spits. “If you are, you’re out of practice.”

“I’ve no time to charm you, nor inclination. The longer we stay in this location the more threats we will face.”

“The more threats _you_ will face, you mean — _I_ haven’t done anything wrong.”

“It matters not. You are a pawn of a power beyond your comprehension. Pawns are sacrificed the moment their usefulness has ended.”

Jane Foster narrows her eyes. “Right. So if I’m a pawn, what does that make you?”

The scepter feels heavier, heavier. It has been a month since he ran. He ought get rid of it. Throw it in the deepest water, the hottest fire. They will find him if he does not. He has left the Other behind without the promised battle and the guaranteed reward.

_(There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice…)_

But that monster is a piece on the board as well.

A risk it may be, but he needs this power still. He cannot release it yet.

“In this scheme, I am little more than you,” says Loki. “But a pawn which survives long enough to reach the opponent’s side of the board becomes as powerful as it wishes. Is that not how your game works?”

She frowns. “I don’t see how just _surviving_ is supposed to stop the end of the world.”

“Not just the end of your world. The end of all worlds.” Thanos, the name of nightmares, the feeling on the back of his neck and poison snakes of wine beneath his skin — no, the snakes are Loki’s, Thor’s coronation, Gungar cool and heavy, but the scepter burns bright blue. (It only damages mortals. Only mortals.) “In the end, we are all doing little more scraping for our lives, are we not?”

“Very philosophical.” Jane Foster pauses. “You’re saying _I’m_ the one who’s supposed to let this Thanos into our dimension.”

“You were _made_ to do so. It is your fate, unless we change it.”

“If we can change it, it’s not fate. There’s no such thing.”

“For both our sakes, Jane Foster, I hope you are right.” He could compel her obedience so easily, and in so very many ways. He does not wish to. Not unless he must. If she breaks there is no telling what will happen.

She examines his face with a scrutiny Loki finds deeply disturbing. “You’re sick,” she says after a moment, and very carefully. “You know that, right?”

“I’ve been told.”

“No, I mean you _look_ sick. Is there anyone who—” She stops, then takes a half-step back (sensible thing) before continuing: “Is it something your brother might be able to help with?”

“No,” Loki says curtly. There is nothing wrong. (Only mortals.) “Though we may need his help, before the end. And his new friends.” When it comes to the end of existence, rivalries over thrones can be set aside. Temporarily. “I grow weary of this debate, Jane Foster. You _will_ come with me now.”

Perhaps his skills of persuasion have not left him entirely, because Jane Foster nods, slowly, not taking her eyes from his. “All right,” she says. “But you have to promise we’ll talk to Thor.”

“I promise,” he lies. He extends his hand. “Come.”

Her fingers are warm in his. Loki is surprised at how quickly, and how completely, he likes the feel of them there.

 

***

 

Thirty years, three thousand years, it makes no difference. All believe they operate of their own free will. As though the son of Laufey, of Odin, would know of anything he was not meant to know.

And Jane Foster — she they will call Sigyn, the spark that lit the fire that burnt them all — is exactly where she needs to be.

Further away than human minds can comprehend, Thanos Rex smiles.

 

 

 


	13. The Grand

**Loki is a brilliant but amoral businessman with his fingers in both legitimate and criminal enterprises. He has the capital to help his brother, but he’s uninterested—that is, until Jane, Thor’s beloved (wife or betrothed—up to you!), asks for his aid. What he wants in return, however, is more than a just an equal stake in the business.**

**He wants her.**

**So begins a journey of lies, seduction, and questionable business practices—all for the sake of Jane Foster. Is Loki’s obsession with his brother’s wife/betrothed a twisted version of love, or is it merely a part of a greater plan to destroy Thor?**

  
This is based loosely on [Prompt #71](http://magic-n-science-prompts.tumblr.com/post/83821610629/71-business-au) from [magic-n-science-prompts](http://tmblr.co/mdFlIKoJE-_lWGQb6aoEl5g) (which is in itself based loosely on [The Grand](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0118327/)); more importantly, it is a very belated birthday present for [startraveller776](http://tmblr.co/me_XF-466qpx5xNb2pe-kng), who also wanted that prompt. (For the record, if you don’t know The Grand, you must. It is a Lokane AU. There is just no other way to describe it. And as a side note, it doesn’t take much squinting to make this a straight-up The Grand fic, set about 18 years before the beginning of the series. Enjoy it from whatever angle you desire.)

Usual caveats of questionable Norwegian translations. I just can’t stop with them.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The creature in the cradle is covered in fine, dark hair. Loki had — foolishly, it would seem — assumed a newborn would resemble an actual infant; instead, he’s reminded of a nest of infant rabbits he discovered on a picnic when he was eight. Blind, scrunched, red beneath delicate brown fuzz. Thor’s hound had swallowed them whole.

Still, the appearance must be normal, or his brother would have said something. Thor has never kept a single thought to himself in his life. If his son and heir had been born half-lizard, the entire hotel would have known before the cord was cut.

_“Jeg antar du er for stor til å bli spist,”_ Loki murmurs to the baby. _“Synd. Du må finne en annen måte å underholde meg.”_

His nephew doesn’t so much as yawn. But his sister-in-law stirs at the sound of his voice, twisting beneath the freshly-changed blankets of her bed. “Darcy?” The word is a low moan of pain. “Is he okay?”

“The babe is well,” Loki assures her. “Probably. Is his head meant to be so pointed?”

She opens her eyes at this, blinking owlishly in the dim light of the single gas lamp. Nothing the midwife and servants did afterwards — removing the bedding, washing her body and hair, dressing her in clean gown — changes the fact that Jane gave birth three hours ago; in short, she looks awful. It seems to take her vision a moment to focus on him, but when it does, her expression drops into its usual cool contempt. _“Jeg forventet ikke å se deg.”_

“And why should you have?” Loki’s English is easy, unlike Jane’s Norwegian, which remains halting and accented even after more than a year of residence in Oslo. No reason for her to strain herself with his language when he can speak hers. She’s been strained enough, clearly. “After all, my place is downstairs: in the lounge with my brother, a cigar in one hand, a glass of _akevitt_ in the other, calling toasts to the life and health of the new Odinson generation.”

“I want Darcy.”

“I sent your maid off to rest and promised to keep watch.”

“Why?”

Loki shrugs. “Idle curiosity,” he lies. “There was so much blood in the laundry tubs, I assumed you would die; yet rumor had it you still drew breath. I decided to see for myself.” He smiles. “You performed admirably; I could hardly hear the screaming.”

It’s the sort of comment that usually makes Jane scowl, but she seems to have no energy for it. “The guests didn’t hear me either, I hope.”

“Of course not. Father would have had you chloroformed.”

There _had_ been complaints about Jane’s cries, actually — all from the guests on the fourth floor, below the family apartments. Those were passed to Heimdall, who passed them to Loki, who dealt with them quickly and efficiently. Bypassing the chief porter’s line of communication to Odin was a trick, but Heimdall had agreed, as Thor had been the one to suggest it.

(Thor even thought it was his own idea.)

He turns back to the baby and pretends he doesn’t feel his sister-in-law studying the side of his face. “When did you arrive?” she asks.

“After supper.” Yesterday’s supper.

“You look terrible.”

“You look worse.” She looks beautiful. Wan and dark-circled and tangle-haired, Jane is more riveting today than she was when she walked into the hotel eighteen months ago on the arm of her Uncle Selvig, a foreigner but still an excellent match for the eldest son of the Odinson family. On that day Loki spared only half a glance for the mousey American who would be seated next to his brother that very night — and nearly every night thereafter.

His interest grew over the following weeks. Her lips pressed so often together. She said little, but her eyes would narrow, and when she whispered to Selvig for translation his expression often turned reproving. Loki wondered what she would have to say were she not female and possessed more command of Norwegian.

He learned English just so he could find out.

But verbally poking and prodding her in her own language did nothing to endear him to Jane. All he gleaned was that she was enamored of Thor, disliked Odin, and didn’t give him, Loki, a second thought at all.

Oh, and she loved the stars.

( _Ptolemy’s Almagest_ as a courtship gift was another idea Thor thought his own.)

The baby starts to fuss, his eyes scrunching still tighter. He really is one of the ugliest things Loki has ever seen, but the little alarm siren noises that come from the pursed mouth tug at biological intuition bred and born through a hundred thousand generations, and he automatically reaches to pick up the squalling creature. _This is why the human race continues,_ he reflects, cradling the infant. _Otherwise we would leave them in the snow to die._

But Loki’s impulses, however unconscious, are nothing compared to a mother’s instincts. Jane is all but crying herself as she tries to get out of bed. “Give him to me,” she demands, arms out, all modesty gone as her dressing gown falls open. Two dark spots of milk dampen the thin shift beneath. “Give me my son, Loki.”

“Of course, sister dear,” he says smoothly. “Now lay back and stop trying to injure yourself. Or do you imagine I’ll let my own nephew fall?”

She has the grace to look sheepish.

(In the wild, male lions will kill the offspring of their competitors.)

Loki has breathed envy each day of his life. He has eaten it with every meal, swallowed it with every drink, burned with it and frozen with it, felt its lash and welcomed the drive. Without it he would be rudderless; he’d lack reason or purpose. Working to _take_ what his brother has been _given_ is all he’s ever wanted. It is familiar, comforting, sweet as it is bitter.

But he has never felt a sting as sharp as when Thor’s son leaves his arms for Jane’s.

_Jeg vet ikke hva jeg skal gjøre,_ Thor had said a year ago, uncharacteristically hesitant. _Jane er fantastisk, tydelig, men… ekteskap._

_Hun er et godt valg. Du må gifte seg en dag._

_Men dette er tidligere enn jeg hadde trodd._ His brother felt his twenty-two years to be very young. Loki had considered his nineteen to be ancient. Who knew what Jane thought of her twenty.

_Gjøre opp tankene dine snart, bror,_ Loki had heard himself say, _eller jeg vil be sin første._

A fantasy, of course. Jane’s by then calcified antipathy — earned through her general disapproval of his lifestyle and the way he flaunted his interest (to her at least) — would have ensured a refusal, no matter how sweetly he worded the offer.

He might have tried anyway.

Thor only laughed at his jest and proposed the next day.

The baby roots for Jane’s breast. She kisses the top of his head, glowing. _You could have been mine,_ Loki thinks, but aloud he says, “I suppose he’ll be called something or other.”

“Thor wants to name him for your father.”

“One of his worse ideas.”

“I agree.”

Loki grins. Distaste for Odin is one of the few places Jane will admit their mutuality of feeling. “Then name him for me instead.”

“No.”

However joking his suggestion had been, her abrupt refusal stings more than it should. “Whyever not?” he says lightly. “Concerned someone might doubt his parentage?”

Jane glances up at that, and her eyes — he has never seen a brown colored so lightly — flash with anger. “I’m tired,” she says, the words an insult. “You’d better go back to the toasts and cigars.”

It does not matter how long it takes. It does not matter how many of Thor’s children she bears. One day an opportunity will present itself, some chink in the armor with which she imagines herself safely clad, and Loki will be there. He can wait. “My congratulations again,” he says for now, making his way to the door. There is business to be done below. “Maybe Copernicus?”

Her laugh, this time genuine, follows him into the hall.

He can live on that for longer than she imagines.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant phrases, as according to questionably accurate online translators:
> 
>  _Jeg antar du er for stor til å bli spist. Synd. Du må finne en annen måte å underholde meg._ —I guess you are too big to be eaten. Too bad. You have to find a different way to entertain me.
> 
>  _Jeg forventet ikke å se deg._ —I didn’t expect to see you.
> 
>  _Jane er fantastisk, tydelig, men… ekteskap._ —I do not know what to do. Jane is amazing, obviously, but … marriage.  
>  _Hun er et godt valg. Du må gifte seg en dag._ —She is a good choice. You have to get married one day.  
>  _Men dette er tidligere enn jeg hadde trodd._ —But this is earlier than I had thought.  
>  _Gjøre opp tankene dine snart, bror, eller jeg vil be sin første._ —Make up your mind soon, brother, or I will ask her first.


	14. Uncertain Times [moved]

 

_An extension of what was a[relatively sweet kid!fic drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1295896/chapters/3390938). Because I can’t let this fandom have anything nice._

_The lesson here is not listen to[soundtracks that reek of foreshadowing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z7Soh4PFvnw), or [Macbeth-esque fanvids](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVl69DNBAxo), when trying to write something light._ _I’m sorry._   
  
  
  
_**The kid!fic Lokane drabbles now have their own home in[Kingslayer](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2085519/chapters/4538175).** _


	15. Wherein Audrey asked for filthy Lokane prompts and got them.

**iamartemisday said:** Okay, so Loki disguises himself as Thor to get Jane into bed with him, except Jane figures out right away that it’s not really Thor (maybe Loki says something Jane knows Thor would never say), but she goes along with it anyway because it’s not like she’s ever going to get the real Thor in bed like this since he never sticks around long enough, so why the fuck not? And Loki might actually know that she knows but it’s kind of ambiguous and the whole this is a big fucked up mess and they love it.

 **startraveller776** : [#43 Diary (Smut Prompt) from Lokane Fanfic Prompts.](http://magic-n-science-prompts.tumblr.com/post/69362958871/43-diary-smut-prompt) (Jane is happily married to Thor, the most wonderful man she’s ever met in her life.  Despite this- and the near idyllic life they share- she finds herself constantly daydreaming about Thor’s black sheep younger brother, Loki.  Day after day, she imagines what it would be like to be with him, until it comes to invade her actual dreams.  She wakes up sweaty and aroused almost every night after that.  She can’t even have sex with Thor anymore without picturing Loki. Ashamed of herself, Jane finds a seemingly perfect way to release her illicit desires without anyone getting hurt: she writes them all down in a journal.  Page after page is filled with detailed descriptions of all the devious things she wishes Loki would do to her (and vice versa).  It proves a helpful method of coping, and Jane figures she can go on like this forever by burning each journal as she finishes it and then starting a new one. She’s getting ready to do just that when she walks into her and Thor’s bedroom to find Loki flipping through her journal, reading all the steamy scenarios she’s come up with for the two of them. He is amazed at how dirty her mind is.  He also wants to try out a few of these fantasies of hers. And much as she tries, Jane is powerless to resist him.

 **flameysaur said:** They need each other. They want each other. They hate each other. They will never, ever, love each other.

_I dedicate this violent psychologically and physically abusive dubcon fuckfest to my friendship with halfpennytumbles. (Which features none of those things, for the record.) Also, people who watch The Grand will notice that there’s inspiration from what is possibly the hottest scene ever recorded on television. Did I mention you should watch that show? Because you should watch that show._

 

_Wherein Audrey asked for filthy Lokane prompts and got them. (PWP. NC-17. Trigger warning: basically everything.)_

  
  


 

Apparently, one cannot carry a pre-creation singularity in one’s bloodstream for the better part of a week without some side effects. Jane kind of wishes she’d chosen biology as her secondary or tertiary degree (particle physics and quantum mechanics, respectively)… or was friends with an M.D…. or had friends at all, really. Then she’d have someone to ask about whether she’s hallucinating.

Because Loki, who is supposed to be ash on Svaltheim, is following her.

At least, Jane’s pretty sure he is.

The first time she saw him was during Thor’s third visit to London. (She stays here for now, sorting residual readings from the Convergence; so much data, so little time.) He (Thor, that is) doesn’t stop in as much as Jane imagined he would, but it’s still a lot better than every few years, and world-saving  _is_ a never-ending struggle. (Besides, he sees time a lot differently. Three weeks might as well be three hours to a god.) That time, after they did — well, what they do when he visits, and what they do is  _very_ good — Jane took Thor to a fish-and-chips pub, because why not?

And, amidst the goggling Londoners, seated by the back wall, armored and everything, was a very not-dead Loki.

At least, Jane  _thought_ so. But before she could say a word he was gone, and maybe it was just someone who  _looked_ like him, after all, and she’d already had two beers. So she blinked a few times, had another drink, and tried to put the strange moment out of her mind. She definitely wasn’t going to mention it to Thor, not after everything; he’d been through enough.

But she sees him again during Thor’s next visit, on a eighth-story balcony of the building opposite her flat. And the visit after  _that_ he’s on the other end of the subway car, staring at them, totally unnoticed by anyone else.

That time, she finally asked Thor if he noticed anyone on the bench five rows back. Thor had said only an elderly man reading a book, and Jane, with some misgivings, called it a trick of the light and declined to elaborate.

(She might just be losing her mind, after all. The aether had done… strange… things. For instance, she  _swears_ she can see the radiation waves from her microwave through three walls; now she just uses the stove.)

Then he starts turning up when Thor’s  _not_ around. On the bus (he seems to like public transit); at the library, idly perusing the history section; in the garage where the first holes in space appeared and her meters still spew more information than she knows what to do with (almost). He never says anything. He just kind of watches. Smiles from time to time. That’s all. And if he notices that she notices him, he certainly doesn’t act like it.

Once (the time in the coffee shop) she looks straight at him for three straight minutes and, though his brow knits in a slightly puzzled expression, he doesn’t otherwise react.

Which is a point towards the whole hallucination thing.

Jane doesn’t say anything to him. It’s not a good sign when you start talking to figments of your imagination.

Besides, he’s dead. She watched him die.

 

***

 

She figures it out after almost three months of this, on the day he’s following her down the street — twenty feet back, keeping pace whether she’s walking briskly or window-shopping — and they pass a construction site.

He gets cat-called.

Later, after he’s gone (he just vanished when she turned a corner eight blocks down), she returns to fish for information under the guise of giving a lecture to the workers about harassment; their response (cleaned and paraphrased) is that any woman with endowments such as those should expect to be the regular recipient of vocalized appreciation.

It’s then that Jane gets it. It  _is_ Loki, he’s disguising himself as different people, and it’s fooling everyone except her. And he doesn’t seem realize it.

She tries to think about how she’s going to present this to Thor next time he comes by — _Your psychotic adopted brother is alive and stalking me, surprise!_ — and in the meantime dedicates herself to ignoring Loki’s presence as best she can. He hasn’t done anything yet. He hasn’t even come close to her. He has no idea she knows he’s there.

No reason to panic.

 

***

 

She starts having dreams.

She’s prepared to blame Loki for this one, too; maybe he’s sneaking into her mind the way he’s sneaking around London. Or it might be Thor’s fault, for reacquainting her with sex (okay, so it had been awhile) but not coming by often enough to keep her newly revitalized urges satisfied. Jane’s never been all that great about taking personal responsibility (as many people have told her many times) and this is no exception. The erotic fantasies that have her waking up and fumbling for her vibrator at three in the morning are  _not_ her fault.

Because she wouldn’t be thinking this way on her own. She went without for the better part of four years before Thor brought her to Asgard, showed her his palace chambers, and proceeded to earn her forgiveness for never returning to New Mexico. She’s not some kind of, of…

And she’s never had a thing for bad boys. Never.

(Although ‘bad boy’ doesn’t even begin to describe Loki. That’s a term better reserved for a rebel without a cause, not a mass-murdering megalomaniac. It would be healthier to have wet dreams about Hannibal Lecter.)

But her subconscious keeps betraying her. If she sees him that day, she dreams of him that night. It usually takes place wherever they crossed paths, and it’s invariably filthy, involving desires she’s never realized she had.

(His fault. Or Thor’s. Maybe the aether’s. Not hers.)

Because her base default it to track data — it’s always to track data — she starts keeping a journal in her bedside drawer.  _4/12/14: Oral sex (male receiving); Picadilly Circus; ignored by public. 4/15/14: Restroom in Puccino’s; vaginal intercourse; orgasm denial. 4/17/14: Highgate Cemetary; oral sex (female receiving) followed by anal intercourse; moderate asphyxiation with necklace._ Bare facts, nothing else. Not until she’s achieved proper documentation does she allow herself to reach for the vibrator.

It makes her  _angry_.

 

***

 

Jane stays out very late the night it happens. It’s been four weeks since she last saw Thor and had an orgasm that wasn’t fueled by increasingly disturbing fantasies about his brother. Part of her wants to go ‘on the pull’, as it’s called here, but being frustrated and irritable and increasingly chafed by life doesn’t make her love Thor any less; besides, she’s never known how to pick up guys anyway. (She could call Richard. She even turns over her phone a few times, and wonders what it would have been like if their date hadn’t been interrupted, if she’d just ordered the sea bass; he was cute, and smart, and they probably could have done all right if Jane’s world hadn’t involved so many gods.) So she has a few drinks, takes a very long walk in the misty night air, and comes home at an hour that should have bothered her more than it did.

Loki’s stretched out on her bed.

Worse, he’s sitting up against the headboard, ankles elegantly crossed, thumbing through her journal.

When Jane drops her purse in shock — because she drops her purse in shock — he looks up and smiles. It’s a strange smile, one that doesn’t suit him at all. “Did I frighten you?” he says. “I apologize.”

She just blinks.

He hasn’t spoken directly to her since they met on Asgard. His attempted introduction was cut off by a punch to the face; after that everything he had to say about her was deliberately directed to Thor. So Jane doesn’t even have a remembered conversational rhythm to rely on. She doesn’t know what to  _do_.

“You could have told me of these desires, my love.” Loki sets the journal back in the open drawer — oh, God, he’s seen her vibrator — and slides it shut with a delicate click. “You can tell me  _anything_.”

Jane continues to mouth wordlessly, and Loki looks curiously hurt by her silence. Tonight there’s no armor, just simple cloth and a layered overcoat; his hair falls over the collar of his shirt to brush his shoulders, and the green and the black and the white skin of his sharp face don’t make any sense with his earnest, injured expression. “Did you not trust me?” The bed squeaks as he gets to his feet. “You need never fear my judgement or doubt. I swear it on Mjolnir.”

Mjolnir.

Oh.

_Oh._

“That… that journal was hidden for a reason, Thor,” Jane finally says, slow and careful and cautious. She slips out of her shoes; it will be easier to run that way. “You shouldn’t read my private things.”

Loki — apparently satisfied that she is fooled by his illusion — nods. “I give you my word,” he promises, “that you will be glad I did.”

He steps forward and kisses her.

The act is such a pale imitation of his brother that it crosses the line into mockery. His lips aren’t soft, they’re weak; his hands aren’t gentle, they’re feeble. Jane is so appalled by what he’s trying to do — _he thinks he can fuck her while wearing someone else’s face_ — that she doesn’t even respond. Her mouth stays shut and her hands fist at her sides.

It doesn’t take more than a minute before Loki notices she’s not with him. He pulls away and frowns at her in a caricature of concern. “Is something wrong?”

She should scream. She should run. He is, for all intents and purposes, planning to rape her by deception; the rational reaction is to do whatever she can to stop him—

—but she is just. So. _Furious_.

“It’s nothing,” Jane says, lowering her eyes.  She glances very deliberately at the closed drawer where her journal sits. “I only… thought you would be better at this, is all.”

Her arrow hits.

Loki’s expressions hardens. “So be it,” he snarls — then grabs her by the neck, lifting her to her tiptoes. He holds her there for a moment, until she starts to feel the shallowness of her own breath and begins to struggle, before throwing her back onto the mattress. The ancient springs squeak as she bounces.

Either her rage is fueling her arousal or her arousal is fueling her rage; it doesn’t matter. She is enraged and aroused and she can already feel the bruises forming on her throat. Jane touches them with her fingertips as Loki strips in front of her.

“I have read your little book cover to cover, Jane.” His coat comes off, then his vest. “You dream of being forced into submission.” His shirt. His boots. “If that is what you desire, I am more than willing to acommidate.” His pants. His underthings. He’s so hard Jane’s surprised he can even stand. “Pick a scenario, my love. Any one of them. There will be no regrets.”

Jane smiles.

Loki may have read her journal cover to cover… but he missed the point, because she only ever wrote the bare facts.

He doesn’t know that in these dreams — dreams of _him_ , not of Thor — he overpowers her, but she still _wins_.

And that’s what makes her decide to go ahead. She touched real power, once — held it inside, made it a part of her — and she wants to feel that again. Or something close. This is close.

“I don’t know, Thor,” she says. She tries to look at Loki like she’s seen his body a dozen times before, tamping down on the desire to explore the new territory with her eyes and hands and tongue. “Are you sure you want to? You seem a little—” here Jane pauses judiciously “—off. Like it might be too much for you.”

Loki looks as though he might kill her, and oh, _wow,_ does that feel good. _This is what comes of wearing a mask, asshole_ , she thinks spitefully as he climbs on top of her and starts to tear at her clothes. He hooks a hand into the collar of her blouse and it comes off in pieces — an expensive loss, but worth it. Jane’s honestly not sure if he’s play-acting.

“You’ve always thought it was too much, haven’t you.” The words are spoken into her shoulder, where his sharp teeth make her recoil in protest even as she arches with pleasure. “That’s why you’ve never shared these proclivities of yours. You think the God of Thunder can’t satisfy you.” Her jeans don’t come off so easily, making him curse. “Tonight will be different, Jane, and you’ll not soon forget it. I’ll take you like the little Midgardian whore we both know you are.”

At the word _whore_ she hits him. Just like she did on Asgard.

It’s every bit as satisfying.

They stare at each other for a long moment… until Loki grins in a way that probably looks completely wrong on Thor’s face.

His returning slap is open-handed, and not as hard as Jane is sure it could have been, but the crack of it still echoes through the room and sends a blaze of hot pain across her cheek.

He had done that in one of her dreams, too.

The same hand that struck her finds its way to her chest, twisting roughly through her bra. Jane can’t stop herself from whimpering. It encourages him to pinch harder. “Giving in so easily, are you?” he says, a gleaming manic edge to his gaze and words. “Based on your scribbles, I’d expected more of a fight.”

She rakes her nails down his back and he hisses. “I’d fight,” she taunts, “if you were at _all_ intimidating.”

“You’re not intimidated because you think you know me.”

“No. You’re just not that impressive right now — not like you usually are. Can’t imagine why.”

Another barb that strikes home. Jane finds herself on her stomach without ever leaving his arms; her jeans come off a little more easily this way, and the hooks at the back of her bra give a moment later. “I am a _god_ , mortal,” he growls, and in spite of all the mockery she’s throwing his way his erection is still hard and heavy against her backside. A firm hand on her shoulder blade forces her flush with the bed. “There are limits to the amount of disrespect I will tolerate.”

Jane’s never been angrier or more turned on in her life. “You don’t scare me,” she retorts recklessly. “You think some big mystical toy makes you a man, but it doesn’t.” So what if he used the tesseract for a little while? From all she’s heard he barely even _touched_ the cube, while she held the aether _inside_ her. Jane knows what real power is now, and Loki’s not it. “Bluster all you want; I won’t buy it. I’m stronger than you.”

Loki’s hands are everywhere, grabbing and groping and kneading with unabashed greed. One knee forces her thighs apart, and three fingers curl into her without any preparation or warning. She’s so wet that they slide effortlessly. “You _do_ like this little game, don’t you,” he murmurs, a strange wonder to his voice. “What a sordid creature you are.”

She can only moan.

“More?” he replies innocently and with deliberate misunderstanding. “As you wish.” The next noise Jane makes is a squeak of shock as he twists his hand to push his thumb into her ass; she stiffens with discomfort, a sensation that fades almost immediately as he uses his hand to work her from both entrances at once. “Which way should I take you, Jane? Have you a preference? Not that it would matter; I’ll do as I like regardless.”

At this point he could fuck her any way he wanted and Jane is pretty sure she’d come like a rocket. But she’s not so overwhelmed by sensation — oh, God, the pressure is _incredible_ like this — that she’s lost all her bite. “The usual way,” she says, not elaborating, forcing the kind of sigh unique to a dissatisfied woman. “We may as well, if this is the best you can do. I can tell you’re not really into it, Thor.”

He releases her at that, leaving behind a horrible empty ache that’s more painful than the slap. “Your cunt, then,” he says, positioning himself between her legs and pressing her into the mattress with his weight. “I’ve been very curious what my brother seems to find so fascinating about it.”

Jane freezes.

Loki takes the opportunity to shove himself in to the hilt. She grunts at the force of it; he groans with satisfaction. He wastes no time, either, and Jane’s being driven hard into the bed, the old springs digging into her stomach with each thrust. All she can do is hang on.

And it feels so _good_.

“Say my name, Jane Foster.” He’s not bothering to give her room, too busy clutching her arms or wrists or grabbing handfuls of hair to worry about whether she’s getting crushed. “My real name.”

“ _Loki._ ”

Amazingly, he gets harder inside her. Narcissist. “Yes,” he confirms. “Yes. Good. Again.”

But she doesn’t indulge him a second time; the first was really a question. “You knew I could see you?”

“I realized weeks ago. How _do_ you manage it? It’s vital that I know.” He nips the shell of her ear, which feels so good that she bucks her hips back into his, meeting his next thrust. It draws a strangely vulnerable noise from his throat.

“You knew and pretended to be Thor anyway. That’s disgusting.”

“No, _you_ pretended.” Loki plants one hand next to her head and wraps his other arm around her waist, hauling her up until each thrust is so deep it feels like a bruise. “Does my brother realize what a depraved, deviant, unfaithful woman he chose in place of his throne?”

She should feel guiltier than she does, but it’s still a game without being a game, and she severed her morals from this encounter the moment it began. “No, he doesn’t,” she says. She wrenches her head around enough to look over her shoulder, look him in the eyes. “Do you think you can make it worth my while to betray him? Because I’m really not sure.”

Loki bares his teeth, and Jane can see just how much he hates her. “I _will_ teach you respect,” he growls, smacking her side hard enough to make her yelp.

“No.” That one really hurt, and the signs of his fraying temper are what bind hers into place. This is power. “You won’t.”

It only makes him grip her tighter.

Aren’t they just the pair.

She keeps expecting him to pull her onto her knees for maximum leverage; instead he sandwiches her between his chest and the bed, taking more and more of her air as he moves faster and faster. The wet noises their bodies make are obscene.“You like it,” she tells him, making her words as derisive as possible. “You like that I think you’re pathetic.”

“ _Wretched_ little mortal.”

“A mortal you’ve stalked for months.”

“Because you’re an oddity.” He’s putting his back into it now; the headboard slams against the wall with the violence of each thrust, and Jane has to fist her hands into the sheets just to hold on. She’s not going to be able to walk tomorrow. “When I figure out why you can see me, you’ll have no further value.” She feels his breath hot and rapid against the crook of her neck. “Do you know what I do to things of no value, Jane?”

She can guess. “Fuck you.”

“You are. And you will again. You will as many times as I see fit, in as many _ways_ as I see fit—” his breath hitches as he shoves a hand beneath them to rub roughly between her legs “—there are _so_ many choices in that little journal of yours, Jane Foster, and I will _break_ you, I will _ruin_ you—” But he can’t keep berating her because she reaches around to scratch her nails across his face and his words degenerate into formless moans as he bites at her fingers, still trying to get closer, always trying to get closer, two beings who’ve been twisted by singularities until what’s left behind is warped and ionized and drawn together like magnets—

Panting with pleasure, she manages to lie: “I won’t even _remember_ this.”

Loki’s whole body bows over hers as he comes, and the ragged movements together with the nearly-helpless noises of release he whimpers in her ear combine to push her over the edge as well, shuddering and gasping for air against the sheets.

He finally lifts his body off hers a moment later, allowing Jane to take her first deep breath since they began, and she feels him stroke a shockingly tender hand across her side before pulling free entirely. She flinches; everything is sore. She stays face down with her eyes closed, ignoring the rustle of Loki dressing, very deliberately shutting out the implications of what just happened.

“I will be seeing you again, Jane,” he says, making the words more of a threat than a promise.

Jane doesn’t even turn to look at him. She just gives him a dismissive little wave, as though he’s not even worth the trouble of replying.

And that’s going to be the way of them.

 

***

 

In the morning she is not, in fact, able to walk.

  
  



	16. two miserable people meeting at a wedding au

**iamartemisday asked: 22 [two miserable people meeting at a wedding au]**

 

_100 word drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

Jane stares at the hotel room ceiling. She’s officially become a cliché.

Woman goes dateless to ex-boyfriend’s wedding. Woman broods. Woman sits next to man similarly brooding. Woman and man drink. Woman and man go upstairs, give elevator security cameras a show, and barely make it to bed.

"Your name," orders the man lying next to her, casually, like her sweat isn’t drying on his skin.

See? Cliché. “I’m Jane. Foster.”

The man blinks twice, then… a slow smile. “ _You’re_ Jane Foster? Truly?”

"Um… yes?"

His smile widens to a grin — and he starts to laugh.

What a weird guy.

 

 

 

 


	17. boss/intern au

**bethanythemartian asked: 49. Boss/Intern AU for Lokane (but Jane is the boss??)**

 

_100 word drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Post-Thor “Paying A Visit” AU. Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

A call to the current intern offering employment half a realm away. A perfect application with perfect credentials. A slight illusion; seeming twenty Midgardian years instead of thirty.

Easy.

"This drive stores particle data," says the woman who took Thor’s heart, pointing at a box. "You’ll back it up every twelve hours."

Loki — Luke — passes her a cup of coffee. He brushes her hand in the exchange and offers a youthful, enthusiastic smile. “I’ll do as you say,” he promises, pretending not to notice the flush, the mumbled thanks… the quick-flash shame of a forbidden fantasy.

This will be _fun_.

 

 

 

 


	18. one night stand and falling pregnant au

**quietgirl1998 asked: 5 lokane [one night stand and falling pregnant au]**

 

 _100 word drabble (which simply had to be 200 words) courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic)._ _Saxon!England Medieval AU. Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

The queen pictures her head staked upon the castle gates and feels she might retch. (She has already done so thrice today.) Even if the king would choose mercy, he is long gone (called to battle after their wedding, leaving his kingdom to the care of his loved-by-no-one-but-he half-brother). The barons will kill her for honor without awaiting permission.

She is damned.

The king’s brother, however, seems a cat in cream. “You are certain?”

"I bled the night of my husband’s departure."

"And I bedded you not a month thereafter."

She nods, swallowing tears.

A gentle, loveless embrace. “Babes often arrive late,” he soothes in the low tones that first seduced her. What a fool she was! “Write my brother; tell him you carry his heir. He shall raise my child for his throne.”

She is appalled. “I will not.”

"Then you will die—" his smile is a blade "—and you alone, for I’ll not confess, and who would believe an adulteress?" He places a kiss upon her forehead. "Dry your eyes and do as I say. All will be well." The next kiss brushes her neck, and his hands roam low. "Now, as the harm has already been done…"

 

 

 

 

 


	19. fake relationship au

**electricalice asked: Lokane, the evergreen #7 [fake relationship au] because it never hurts**

 

_100 word drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

"Ask nicely. _Very_ nicely. With specifics.”

If Jane weren’t so desperate she’d set her brother-in-law on fire. “Please, be my husband for one night — _without_ embarrassing me to my college friends.”

(Friends is a strong term; most are skeptical that awkward Jane Foster married the heir of a business mogul. Hence not going alone.)

Loki’s grin stretches from ear to ear. “A shame Thor’s trip fell on the night of your reunion,” he says. (He probably wrote the schedule.) “But yes, dear sister… for one night, I will _be_ your husband.”

Too late, Jane realizes she forgot to add _pretend_.

 

 

 


	20. writer and editor au

**goblynn asked: Lokane, #12. [writer and editor au] (Please *and* thank you!) :)**

 

_100 word drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

Loki’s known for iron control — but, right now, reading her email for the fifth time (so many expletives!) he can’t help but chuckle.

Thor pauses as he pulls on his coat. “What’s so funny?”

"Nothing. Fun on the job."

"That editing service? Another there-their-they’re essay?"

"Just a few boring typos. So I corrected the thesis foundations instead."

"You’re hired for grammar."

"I felt altruistic." A click conceals her ‘password-protected’ profile. "You’re off to see— what’s her name?"

“ _Jane_. You’ve met her more than once.”

"Right." Loki’s grin only grows wider. "Enjoy yourself… I’m sure she’ll be in a _lovely_ mood.”

 

 

 

 


	21. waking up with amnesia au

**keydav asked: Lokane-#18: waking up with amnesia au :)**

 

 _100 word drabble (which simply had to be 200 words) courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic)._ _Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

Loki touches the frame on the mantle. “My brother?” he says uncertainly.

"Yes. Thor. He’s on a business trip, but he’ll be here soon." The hospital tried him first and got no answer, so it’s Jane who had to collect Loki, bruised and bandaged, from the ER.

The next picture. “My parents?”

"Yes. Frigga died last year."

He nods without emotion, which eradicates the last of Jane’s doubts. “Is my father dead, too?”

"Um, no."

"Is he coming?"

"No."

"I see." He clearly doesn’t.

God, this is bizarre. The last time Loki stood in this room he and Thor came to blows. There’s still indentations in the plaster.

"And you’re my sister."

"Sister-in-law. Soon, anyway — wedding’s next month."

"But we’re friends."

 _Whenever you show up you make everyone miserable. You hurt Thor and you call me names. I hate you._ “Not really,” Jane hedges. “You, uh… don’t like me very much.”

Loki just blinks at her, green eyes completely guileless. Then, after a long moment— “No. I _know_ that’s not true.”

She doesn’t know how to respond, so Jane glances at the clock. Twelve more hours until Thor’s flight lands. “Come on,” she says. “Let’s look for something you’ll remember.”

 

 

 

 


	22. high school popular kid/nerd au

**contranym-xendo asked: Lokane & either #10 [high school popular kid/nerd au] or 17 [meeting at a party whilst drunk au]   
**

 

_100 word drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Combo of #10 and #17. Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

Her dress is ruined, the party music vibrates the floor, and this is not how Jane imagined her evening. “What were you _thinking?_ ”

"They challenged me. I couldn’t—" He gurgles, then Jane’s holding his hair back as he retches again — in the toilet this time, at least.

"You’re twenty pounds lighter than everyone else in that stupid drinking game. Didn’t you ace physiology?"

Loki wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “So what? Why should you care about _me?_ ”

Jane can’t explain her convoluted feelings about Thor’s snarling, outcast brother. “I don’t know,” she admits. “But shouldn’t someone?”

 

 

 

 


	23. going through a divorce au

**thedaybeforelast asked: Lokane 50 [going through a divorce au]  
**

 

_200 word drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

"Absolutely not."

"Don’t refuse so quickly." Loki’s voice is too reasonable. This is the tone that coaxes juries to rule against evidence. "A good attorney makes all the difference during a divorce."

Jane nearly hangs up. Five years ago, she never imagined she’d use that word; but what bride does? (Then she learned about all the differences love cannot overcome.) “It’s going to be amicable.”

"Everyone says that… until the proceedings start. Odin had you sign a prenuptial, did he not?"

"Yes, but—"

"Who paid your loans? Who procured funding for your grant?"

"Thor would never—"

"As though it’s _Thor_ who pulls the strings. You know better, dear soon-to-be-ex-sister.”

Conversations with Loki always throw her off-balance. “And there’s nothing in it for you, I’m sure.”

"Helping you will be its own reward."

"Bullshit."

"I’ll even work _pro bono_. There are only two outcomes, Jane: you lose, or you win. Blood will flow either way.” Pause. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

Jane had pictured a conference room, just her and Thor sadly signing papers. Now she imagines an army of suits with her father-in-law at the head.

"I’ll think about it," she says.

She can hear him grinning. “That’s all I ask.”

 

 

 

 


	24. prostitute/client au

**gayships-are-yayshipss asked: lokane 31 [prostitute/client au] please  
**

 

_100(ish) word drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

"You’re terrible at this," Loki informs her.

After a beat of surprise, she retorts: “Looks like I’m doing okay.” Her saliva-slick hand gives him a very pointed stroke.

"Oh, your technique is proficient." Soft lips and softer tongue; he’s enjoying himself immensely. "But escorts should seem to _care_.”

(He would know; his sex life is all transactional. Relationships bore him, and broken hearts are such a chore.)

Her flush of anger is genuine, unlike her caress. Everything about her screams _student loans_. She’s not cut out for this.

Loki likes it.

He also likes her squeak when he flips her over. “Here,” he purrs (her thigh is warm against his mouth). “I’ll show you how one lies to a lover _properly_.”

 

 

 

 


	25. knocking on the wrong door au

**lmpandora-p asked: 28 Lokane [knocking on the wrong door au] :D )**

 

_150 word drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Post-Thor, pre-Avengers, with a very loose definition of the word 'door'. Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

The first thing Jane does on the other side is fall over.

"Interesting." Someone crouches in front of her; his voice is soft, but not kind. "That looked a clever trick. Why are you not dead?"

She feels like she’s been squeezed from a toothpaste tube. “Is this Asgard?” Jane’s been searching for another bridge since Thor left—

A hand grabs her chin; a milk-pale face swims into view. “You are as far from Asgard as one can get,” he snarls. Then he frowns. “I’ve seen you before…”

"You should ask permission before having friends over, Loki." A woman’s voice — hairless blue skin and black eyes, no, that can’t be right— "Bring her to Thanos."

Rocks, and cold open space, and— “Where am I?”

Loki — _Loki?_ — helps her to unsteady feet. “A great distance,” he says, and the words are almost pitying, “from anywhere you would _ever_ want to be.”

 

 

 

 


	26. one of them trying to get the other one off of drugs au

  
**littlerainbowhappy asked: #35 (with Loki getting Jane off the drugs)**

 

_200 word drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Post-TDW. Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

Loki considers Jane with a cool, academic disinterest that makes Thor want to knock his teeth in with Mjolnir. “Lock her in an empty cell for a few years,” he suggests. “It proved solvent in my case.”

"You didn’t suffer these ill effects."

"No?"

"No. Even _your_ tricks could not have concealed such misery.”

"Again you underestimate me, brother." Loki waves his hand — there is Jane, asleep on Vanaheim silk sheets, smiling contentedly.

Another gesture. The real Jane pants, sweats, trembles; the guards tied her hands to control the flailing. Her eyes are open and unseeing.

"Mortals and Infinity Stones make a poor combination," his brother remarks. "How fares Selvig?"

"Can you help or not?"

"I can." And he smiles. Waiting.

_Forgive me._ “House arrest until Father wakes.”

"Done." Loki goes at once Jane’s side and kneels next to the bed. (His brother, _kneeling_.) “It hurts, I know,” he murmurs. “You held the power of the universe; now you’re so unbearably empty.”

Jane turns her head slightly, like she’s listening.

"There are other ways. Trust me. I will give you what you need."

As the woman he loves calms under Loki’s gentle, poisoned comfort, Thor suspects he’ll live to regret this.

 

 

 

 


	27. teacher/single parent au

**siesiegirl asked: Lokane #4 [teacher/single parent au] pretty pleeeeease? :D  
**

 

_Totally out of control word count drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Also for **youaremyfantasyachapcanbeabook** , who requested the same number. Post-Thor. Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

Kindergarten teachers are supposed to have chalk smudges on their pants and marker splotches on their fingertips.

He doesn’t.

Not that that’s why she’s here. She’s here for Issac. But, still…he’s not what she expected.

Her first attempt at conversation is stumbling and incoherent; when he waves off her thanks, Jane has to try again. “You’ve made a real difference,” she says, placing a hand on his desk, needing him to understand. “When Mrs. Gatling died—”

“ _Such_ a shame about that.”

"—I was sure we were in for a really rough time. Issac… he doesn’t take to people very easily."

"Your son is a rather singular child."

He has no idea. “It’s my fault,” Jane explains. (Well, some of it is. _His father is a god who I hit with my van and he promised me he’d come back but it’s been five years and I’ve kind of lost hope_ isn’t something you say unless you want someone to call social services.) “I’ve never been very outgoing, so _he’s_ never been very outgoing, and… okay, you don’t really need to hear about all of this, I guess.”

"You overburden yourself. I’ve found Issac to be quiet, thoughtful, and substantially more clever than I expected. Those traits can have no other source but you."

"Oh." Was that a compliment? "Um… thank you?"

He just smiles.

She’s getting off track. Isaac’s probably driving his babysitter crazy by now. “Look, the point is, all I hear after school every day is _Mr. Laufeyson said this_ and _Mr. Laufeyson said that_ —”

"How tiresome."

"No! It’s wonderful! He’s never done that before! I’ve tried and tried, but…" How can she possibly explain the sleepless nights, the worry, the guilt over her inadequacy as a mother? Issac needs a flesh-and-blood role model, and all Jane’s ever been able to give him are biographies of famous physicists and a Norse mythology book read so many times that the pages are scotch-taped to the binding. "He absolutely idolizes you."

“He’s of an age for hero-worship.”

"Exactly! Yes!" Oh, good, he gets it. Now to the point. "The thing is— look, I know the end of term is coming up, and you’ve probably got all kinds of plans, but I was hoping that even though you won’t officially be his teacher anymore, maybe you could still—"

"Doctor Foster, nothing would please me more than to continue mentoring your son."

Jane almost collapses from relief. Her worst nightmare was that he would say _Sorry, headed back to England next week, have a nice life_ and Issac would be heartbroken. (She never wants him to know what it’s like to be forgotten.) “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say. I can’t thank you enough.”

"Your gratitude is unnecessary—" he leans back in his chair, his gaze turning speculative "—but it _is_ rather welcome. You may express your appreciation by having dinner with me.”

Wait. “What?”

"Is that not what people do when they wish to know each other better?" His smile grows. "Do you know, I had intended to pay you a visit long before now? But, well, what with one thing or another…"

"Um, teachers have busy lives, I guess."

"Indeed, and it’s past time to rectify my neglect. You would be an object of interest simply for being Issac’s mother, of course, but… you may prove fascinating on your own merits, Doctor Foster. So have dinner with me."

Is this flirting? It’s been so long, Jane can’t really tell anymore. “I… I guess I can check my schedule and get back to you?”

“Please do.”

 

***

 

As expected, the babysitter is _more_ than done by the time Jane gets home. “It’s not polite to ignore people,” she explains to her son for the fiftieth time.

"She wasn’t nice." (This is Issac-code for _A perfectly reasonable person didn’t immediately catch my interest and so I pretended she didn’t exist and refused to speak a single word for two straight hours._ ) “Do you like Mr. Laufeyson?”

"I do." Jane pauses, then hesitantly adds: "I think he likes me, too."

Issac accepts this at face value. “He can teach you like he does me. Mr. Laufeyson knows things no one else does. Can I have Pop-Tarts for dinner?”

She ruffles his blond hair.

 

 

 

 


	28. exes meeting again after not speaking for years au

  
**startraveller776 asked: I'm going to make a request [insert maniacal laughter here]: Lokane #40 [exes meeting again after not speaking for years au]**   


 

_200 count drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

He sees her first, which gives him just enough time — barely — to hide the fact that he’s having a heart attack.

She shouldn’t even be on this _continent_ , for God’s sake, let alone this country, let alone this city, let alone the only café where he’s been able to find anything resembling a decent cup of tea. She’s not real anymore; she became his very own Ghost of Christmas Past long ago, haunting him when he drinks too much or makes the mistake of taking a call from his brother. She’s a shadow, now. She’s a shade. She’s a story.

_She’s eating quiche and browsing a scientific journal._

There is only one reasonable course of action. Loki orders his tea, purchases a newspaper, and takes the empty seat across from Jane Foster as though this is the culmination of some intricate scheme. “Good morning,” he says. “Lovely weather.”

It takes her a moment to recover.

As soon as she does, she throws her coffee in his face and storms out.

Given that the last time they’d seen each other she’d punched him so hard it loosened one of his back molars, this actually constitutes an improvement.

But not by much.


	29. ghost/living person au

**subjunctivemood asked: I have a yen for fic that hurts my heart, so #41 [ghost/living person au] Lokane?**

 

_Didn't-even-bother-with-wordcount drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Also for **blushingoreo** , who requested the same number. Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

The payphone has a big sign marked ONE CALL ONLY and doesn’t need quarters.

Jane only has a single number memorized: her own. But since her cell is missing — along with her purse, her memories, and apparently her mind — there’s at least a chance of an answer, so that’s what she tries. “Pick up,” she whispers, counting the rings, knowing that when she reaches five she will be sent to voicemail. “Pick up, pick up, someone pick up—”

Someone does. “Who is this?”

Oh, for the love of— “Loki?” She should have known. It’s another one of his stupid tricks. “Typical. Don’t you have anything better to do with your time than torment me?”

There’s no reply.

"I really hate you."

Silence.

"If you don’t pick me up in the next ten minutes, I’ll have Thor fly all the way back from Oslo just to kick your ass."

Nothing.

"Loki? Can you hear me?"

"When I find out who this is, I will kill you." Her brother-in-law’s tone is soft, smooth, and deadly. "I don’t threaten. You’ll have no voice with which to scream for mercy by the time I’m finished."

Huh? “Loki, it’s _Jane._ What the hell is wrong with you?”

"Say her name again and I’ll find your family as well."

"Are you off your meds?" Please let it not be that. He’s dangerous when that happens. "If you drugged me I swear I’ll press charges this time."

He doesn’t respond, which is a really bad sign. “Loki, knock it off. You win, okay? You win. I’m scared. I don’t know where I am and I don’t remember what happened and I’m scared and I’m tired of this.”

"So am I." Now there’s an almost playful note to his words. He’s far gone and has been for a while. "You sound like her, I’ll grant you that."

"I _am_ her— I mean, I’m _me_.”

"Prove it, then. Tell me a secret. Something only she would know. Go on."

He’s going to be institutionalized this time, she can tell. “All right. About five minutes before I walked down the aisle to marry your brother you tried to make out with me in the stairwell. I stomped on your foot and broke two toes, but you danced with me at the reception anyway because you’re _you_ and you knew I couldn’t refuse without making a scene.”

"…and what did you say during that dance?"

Jane swallows. “I said if you ever tried it again I’d knee you in the balls,” she tells him. “And you said to go ahead, because you didn’t want children unless they were mine. Is that a good enough secret? Will you come get me now?”

For a moment she wonders if she’s lost the connection… then she hears a ragged, sobbing breath that doesn’t fit with her idea of Loki at all. “Jane?”

“ _Finally_.”

"Jane. Jane Foster. Oh, God."

"I know it’s tough, but I need you to focus. Where did you leave me? None of this looks familiar."

"I left you under the tree at St. Agnes."

She frowns. St. Agnes is where Thor and Loki’s mother is buried. “There’s no trees here.” There’s no anything here. Just a phone booth. “Loki, please. I want to go home now. Please just come and get me, okay?”

"You know I would. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

In all the years they’ve known each other he’s never sounded like this. “Loki, be honest: how long has it been since you took your medication?”

"Long enough, it would seem. I don’t care. Just don’t hang up."

"I… I wasn’t planning on it." She tries to smile, even though he can’t see, because something is very wrong. "You might need to plug in after awhile, though."

That, of all things, makes him laugh. “Since this mobile hasn’t been active in three years,” he says, chuckling sickly, “battery life is the least of our worries, don’t you think?”

 

 

 

 


	30. meeting in prison au

**bluepixystyx asked: Audreyyy… Can you please write something about Loki and Jane meeting in prison? Pretty please with cherry on top? Thank you!!!**

 

_100 word count drabble courtesy of[this prompt post](http://audreyii-fic.tumblr.com/post/97080875088/send-me-a-ship-and-a-number-and-ill-write-a-short-fic). Embrace ALL the tropes!  
_

 

 

"My plan was sound." Even on a plastic folding chair Loki sits like a whore. "The failure of execution falls on your own pretty head. Besides, you look lovely in orange."

Only six months left. Enough time to plot revenge. “If my share isn’t waiting, so help me—”

But Loki’s not listening to threats; his eyes are elsewhere. “Who is that?”

"Jane Foster." A mousey name for a mousey girl. "Broke into a research department or something."

"Ah, yes. I remember now." The way Loki grins stops Amora from seeking details. "Introduce me, my dear, and you’ll have my share as well."

"No problem."

 

 

 

 


	31. Wherein Loki burns his bridges.

 

 

_I really think that AH/AU!Amora and Loki would get into some full-on soap opera shit together. For MCU-only sorts, here’s[Amora’s background](http://marvel.com/universe/Enchantress_%28Amora%29), and if she’s not eventually played by either [Natalie Dormer](http://www.ihd-wallpapers.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Natalie_dormer-7.jpg) or [Rosario Dawson](http://picvenue.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/rosario-dawson-desktop-wallpapers.jpg) I will cry all the tears._

  
_Wherein Loki burns his bridges. (Angst. PG-13.)_

 

  
“Go away,” Loki tells her before she even has time to settle properly onto the stool. “I’ve no interest in your friendly words of comfort right now.”

“I’m not the comforting type.” Amora smiles at the bartender — one of  _her_ smiles — and she’ll be drinking free for the entire night. “And we’re temporary allies, not friends. You don’t have any friends.”

A truth that has never stung before now.

He takes another deep swallow of Aquavit. Amora glances at the empty glasses on the bar. “Went that well, huh.”

“I’m sure you’re delighted.”

“I have as much an investment in this as you do. If Thor were free—”

“—then he’d be married to Sif before the year was out. You’ve no chance, Amora. You never did.” He allows a small twinge of schadenfreudic pleasure at the hatred on her stunning face. At least someone else is suffering as he is.

Jane Foster will be his brother’s wife before the end of the week.

He gestures for another drink.

If he’d kept his mouth shut he could have at least had her sisterly affection. She found him exasperating, and frequently worthy of a (beautiful) lost temper, and she’d threatened to slap him more that once (tonight she finally did), but she’d still shared secret smiles with him at particularly ridiculous functions, or joined in his rage when family dinners turned antagonistic (the common outcome). She  _did_ love him, in her own way. He could have tried to settle for that. He could have tried to be satisfied.

But satisfaction has never been in Loki’s nature. He will take what he wants, or he will burn every bridge until there is nothing at all.

He had Jane Foster’s affection, but not the affection he desired, and now there is only flame and ash.

“How,” he asks Amora (too much Aquavit has loosened his tongue, silver that turned to lead three hours past), “do you stop loving somebody when they’ve stopped loving you?”

She stares at him for a long moment, every inch polished regality — which is likely why he and Thor are the only men in the world who have never desired her — before she says: “Oh,  _God_ , I thought this was just about fucking over your brother again. You idiot.”

The look of near-pity in her expression is more than Loki can tolerate. “Have a lovely night,” he says as he throws down a handful of cash down without bothering to count. “I sincerely hope the fool you choose tonight gives you gonorrhea.”

Amora just snorts. “You’re pathetic. No wonder she doesn’t love you.”

“Yes,” says Loki. “No wonder.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [He Who Aspires to Be Greater (Than His Nature Will Allow)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1585016) by [Kurukami](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurukami/pseuds/Kurukami)
  * [To Catch a Thief](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1816306) by [milksteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milksteak/pseuds/milksteak)




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